Induratize
by iinoyb
Summary: (Underfell, slowly developing Fontcest) After a near-death experience, both Papyrus and Sans are left wondering, not only about their relationship as brothers, but about the world they live in as a whole.
1. Chapter 1

**I used to write this under my old alias, so this is a repost. Check my profile for more info!**

* * *

 _Induratize - to harden the heart towards a person, a feeling, or even just the entire concept of love itself._

* * *

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sans knows things used to be different.

There was a time, long ago perhaps, when their lives were not resigned to merely survival of the fittest.

(And he's not only talking about the underground in general, but also his own, personal life.)

He remembers vaguely a house in the big city, a safe heaven amidst the swirling chaos of New Home. He remembers going to school and playing with his brother. He remembers the feeling of being at ease.

But then Sans considers these thoughts more thoroughly and comes to the conclusions they can't be real. Rather, they must be some kind of weird fantasy his mind conjured up for god knows what reason.

He remembers these things, but they are wrong. Vague and distorted. Like something vital is missing from them. Or someone, because surely if ever such a place existed, Sans and Papyrus had not lived there alone, as children.

And since as far as Sans can recall, it has always been just the two of them, these memories must be wrong. He could ask Papyrus about it, see if he remembers, but the cons of such an exchange far outweigh the pros, so he rather not.

Besides, the capital nowadays is reserved for monsters of standing. Monsters with money or assets or anything really that could be considered worthy enough to the king to keep them close and secure.

Anybody else will just have to deal with living elsewhere, smaller towns like Snowdin, or the general area of Waterfall. Or maybe, if you were really lucky, you could make it to Hotland.

But far be it a way to live a proper life.

Resources are scant, food and money are always in low supply. The black market thrives in places such as these.

As does robbery and murder.

Gaining a LV is celebrated in the same fashion as a birthday might, even if you know it means there is somebody else having to organize a dust scattering.

Sans often ponders these things as he sits at his sentry station, chair tipped back and feet resting idly on the wooden front, if just for the amusement it brings him.

There really is no point to these thoughts, he considers, but they battle the boredom so it's fine. There is nothing somebody like him can do to change things, even if he desires to.

Which Sans really doesn't. Running around with his 1 HP is already enough of a risk, thank you very much.

No need to play the martyr and really turn himself into living target practice.

Still, Sans can't always suppress the nagging feeling that there should be more to their lives than just the continuous kill or be killed mentality everybody seems stuck in.

So, instead, he opts for apathy. Always a safe choice.

He doesn't care about the lives of others, he tells himself, over and over. He doesn't even care about his own life.

He doesn't care who dies next.

One of the regulars at Grilby's, whom he maybe has started regarding as, if not friends, then at least begrudging acquaintances? No problem.

That lady behind the door whom never fails to amuse him? Whatever.

His brother, the only constant thing throughout his rather shitty life? Sure.

Himself? Why the heck not, it might even be considered a relief by now.

These are things he has resigned himself to by now.

But while Sans is an excellent actor, he can not always fool himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind he still cares.

And as it stands, this knowledge both frightens and comforts him.

* * *

Sans carefully removes his feet from the sentry station and sets himself back upright.

So far today he has spend probably a full hour sitting at his post. He is entitled to a break by now, if he should say so himself.

The skeleton considers taking a shortcut, but decides against it. It is a nice snowless day, cold but with next to no wind, making it feel slightly warmer than is usual.

As far as Snowdin can ever feel warm anyway.

So he starts walking in the direction of town, slippers crunching softly against snow covered earth. He looks at his feet leaving imprints and wonders if he should have burgers or fries today.

If he's feeling fancy, he could have both.

It all tastes the same after being smothered in mustard, but it's the thought that counts. The thought that he still has some control over his life, however minimal.

The apathy has been getting worse lately. More and more it feels to Sans as if nothing matters anymore.

If it weren't for fear of his brother's verbal outbursts, he would most likely not leave the house all together.

It is this detachment which allows his mind to wander. And a wandering mind is likely to get you killed.

There is a sound up ahead that catches his attention at the last possible second. He manages to duck behind a tree just as somebody else comes barreling down the path Sans was just walking on, at running speed.

A speed which is undeniably synonymous with running for your life.

The Woshua stumbles and slips on the frozen ground, littered with small patches of ice concealed under the powdery snow.

For a monster that is not used to such terrain, it's a true nightmare to navigate.

It looses its footing and falls hard, actually spilling some water from its back. It tries desperately to get up, legs flailing wildly in a feeble attempt to gain sure ground again, but ends up only looking like a pathetic lump of soon-to-be-dead monster.

Which is exactly what it is.

Sans finds he can't look away as the poor thing is instantly set upon by its pursuers, something large and bipedal. Some type of weapon is swiftly brought down upon the Woshua's head, crushing it immediately.

It lets out a rather pathetic sound, caught somewhere between a yelp and a groan, before dispersing into dust.

It is almost captivating to look at. How the body disintegrates, starting at the edges of the wound, falling apart into little particles of gray. It only takes a moment for the corpse to be gone completely, leaving behind just a neat pile of dust.

It is at that exact instant that Sans realizes who the attacking monster is.

Dogaressa. Alone, which can only mean one thing.

"Quite the little sadist, aren't you?"

Something shoves Sans hard against the back and he flails forwards, narrowly avoiding making a similar tumble as the recently expired Woshua just moments before.

He manages to keep upright, but is now standing painfully exposed, out in the open. It makes him slightly nervous, though nothing in his face or demeanor shows it.

"Watching us offing this thing because you're too weak to take part in the fun yourself?" Dogamy huffs from behind him, a slight growl in the back of his throat, as there always seems to be.

Dogaressa has looked up from her kill and is regarding Sans with minor disdain, as if he is no more than a speck of dirt on her boot.

Which is perfectly fine by Sans himself, to be frank. He'd much rather be viewed as unobtrusive, a mild annoyance at best. It's a safe position to be in. An alive position.

But now both dog monsters have their eyes focused on him, as if inwardly debating what their next move should be, and the short skeleton is painfully aware he probably won't like their conclusion.

The rush of EXP after a kill makes monsters anxious. Violent. It can make them do dangerous or foolish things they might normally wouldn't.

He shoves both hands into the pockets of his dark hoodie, flashing an easy smile that shows of his golden tooth, and tries to look as casual as somebody that just witnessed a murder can possibly look.

Which is pretty darn casual, since it wasn't the first time he's seen something like that. It just was the first time he got so stupidly found out.

"Really, though, calling _me_ a sadist?" He ventures. Maybe talking will distract them from getting any bright ideas about free EXP. "You're the ones who just killed the poor fucker. And unprompted, I dare say."

The married dog duo look at each other for a moment and then burst out in hearty laughter, that just sounds plain grating to Sans. He resists the urge to clasp his hands over his earholes for obvious reasons.

"Unprompted?" Dogaressa gestures at the little heap of dust, still undisturbed by the lack of wind. "The little shit was a fucking thief. Thinks he can steal from us and make a run for it? We could smell his soapy stink from miles away."

"He even gave us a good run for our money." Dogamy contemplates out loud, looking vaguely pleased. "We've been chasing this thing all the way from Waterfall."

Sans feels an odd rush of emotion, finding himself both impressed at the Woshua's flight attempt, and also immensely disappointed at its sense of self-preservation.

Stealing from royal guards? That's a death wish waiting to be full-filled right there.

"Sounds like he wasn't the smartest guy around." He hears himself say.

The looks he is getting are making him the slightest bit anxious by now. There haven't been many situation in which Sans has felt threatened up until now, but this is certainly deteriorating into one quickly.

He is used to living with an always present sense of mortality, knowing something could go very wrong, very fast any moment. But this here is the first instance in which he felt an actual fear for his life.

If things seriously go to hell, he can always bet on a shortcut, or even pull out the metaphorical big guns. The ones that nobody else, not even his brother, know about.

Sans would very much like to avoid having to resort to those, though...

He leans forward slightly, allowing his magic to run through his bones and start peeling at the rips in space and time, unfolding them in such a way that allows him to step through.

Rough hands grab him from behind, claws curling into the dun-colored fur at the back of his hoodie harshly. They pull, making him stumble again.

The break in his concentration makes his magic retract, the pent up power manifesting itself as a bright-red glow in his left eye instead, but he manages to keep it in control still.

His attackers mistake this for a sign of fear and start laughing again.

"You know." Dogamy is right by his face now, hands tightening as if Sans would even try to escape. He won't, it would be useless. "I always wondered why everyone suffers your presence so easily. Such a weak piece of filth allowed to run around, as if it has any right to live."

Sans feels incredibly tempted to ask what one has to do to deserve the right to live, but decides against it. This might not be the ideal time to be a smart-ass.

Especially as he can see Dogaressa making her way towards them, axe dragging in the snow behind her and still coated with a thin layer for Woshua dust.

"It's almost a wonder nobody has decided to do this sooner..." The monster behind him says, and Sans is inclined to agree with him.

He can feel his magic growing taunt inside him, almost making him shiver from its intensity. A strong will to live, pure survival instinct just waiting to be set free...

It would not be ideal, directing magic with his impeded arm movements, as Dogamy is now grasping his shoulders roughly and pushing downward, almost making his knees buckle out from under him, trying to force him into a kneeling position.

It would be a jumbled mess of magic that is as likely to get himself killed as anything the dogs could dish out.

It is a bet, with his life being the prize. But Sans is fine with being a gambling monster.

Dogaressa is raising her axe, fatal path downward already calculated to split his skull clean in two. Sans feels his magic gripping tight on his soul, threatening to burst it at the seams.

Time seems to slow down to an unbearable pace.

Magic travels through the air, static, strong enough to force all three of them to the ground.

Through the rushing in his earholes caused by his own powers still being pent up inside his body barely restrained, Sans dimly hears the other two monsters whine in pain. He is aware of a dull stinging on the top of his head himself, but finds it overwhelmed by the immense feeling of relief flooding his system.

Maybe he wouldn't have to resort to using his powers after all.

"Are you alright?" Somebody is grasping his arm, almost holding it in a death grip, but not with ill-intent, but rather in something resembling worry.

He blinks twice, his magic finally beginning to calm down and allowing him to take stock of the situation, though everything looks jumbled still.

Dogamy and Dogaressa are some distance away now, seemingly recovering from a harsh blow. There are small cuts littering them, minuscule carvings in the skin with dust dwindling off them.

It's fascinating to witness, especially while you are still trying very hard to compose your racing thoughts after an almost death experience.

But the grip on his arm is still there, now accompanied by tugging. "Sans, answer me, you ass! Are. You. Alright?"

Sans turns his head and looks at Papyrus. There is something there, on his brother's face. Something that should not be there and somehow makes Sans feel giddy but also scared.

Like he did something horribly wrong.

He realizes there is emotion in that look which covets a reaction more extreme, but he ends up with an almost muted: "Just peachy..." That lacks any of its regular sarcasm.

The next moment his brother has released him and is yelling something, but since it is not directed at Sans anymore, the short skeleton finds himself concentrating on calming his raging magic down.

It takes a minute, but at last he feels relatively normal again and manages to push himself up on unsteady feet.

By now the dog duo is busy profusely apologizing to Papyrus for their transgression, almost graveling in the snow, pleading his forgiveness.

"You are always complaining so much, we just assumed you didn't care about him." Sans hears Dogamy say, defiant in his tone of voice. A challenge.

He gets a bone attack hitting him straight in the muzzle for his efforts.

"I _don't_ care about him." Papyrus confirms, voice as frigid as the snow beneath their feet. "Doesn't mean you two can just do as you please and forget direct orders." But there was a pause there. A pause that's probably unnoticeable for anyone that has not known Papyrus for as long as he has lived.

Sans notices.

And it fils him with the same dual feeling that flared up earlier, even more insistent now in its urgency that this is something vitally important. Something he isn't allowed to dismiss so easily.

Sans shoves it down harder this time.

"You should not touch, that which is not yours to kill. If I see either of your faces again in the following 24 hours, I'll make you lick each others dust off my fucking boots." Papyrus makes some sort of gesture that could be interpreted as dismissing, and both dog monsters make quick work to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible.

His brother waits until they have disappeared out of sight, staring at their retreating backs until he can't see them anymore, then turns around, scuffing his feet in an irritated manner.

Sans can't help but notice Papyrus is standing in the expired Woshua's pile of dust, now scattered messily over the area.

He sure hopes the poor thing liked snow, because that's as much of a funeral as it is ever getting.

When he looks up to meet look Papyrus in the face, it has easily slipped back into his normal expression, an even mix of disdain, annoyance and weariness at other's stupidity.

"We're going home."

* * *

 **Updates will be weekly, on Saturday.**

 **You can also find me on tumblr under the name iinoyb.**


	2. Chapter 2

_So if you love me, let me go._  
 _And run away before I know._  
 _My heart is just too dark to care._  
 _I can't destroy what isn't there._

* * *

The door to their house makes an aggravating squeak as he opens it, and Papyrus reminds himself yet again that he really should get around to oiling the blasted thing.

But between making his famous lethal puzzles, training to keep his edge in battle AND taking care of all the housework, where was a skeleton to find the time?

He should ask Sans to clean or cook for a change, but really, the younger brother couldn't be bothered.

Sans would screw it up somehow with his blasted laziness, and Papyrus would end up redoing all the work himself anyway.

Sans calls it his OCD. Papyrus calls it being thorough in his work.

Besides, Sans's lasagna making skills are about as crappy as his general health.

The entire way home his brother had scuffed his feet, hands shoved deep down into the pockets of that trademark jacket of his and shoulders notably slumped.

Papyrus didn't know why Sans was upset this time. He didn't ask.

He had already slipped up enough for one day.

Had already felt the worry seize his soul in the skeleton equivalent of a heart-attack when he realized he was about to witness the impending murder of the only family member that remained him.

No matter how useless that family member was in his eyes.

He had already heard the uncharacteristic trepidation clouding his own voice when inquiring after the other's well-being.

Right now, he could only hope Sans had not noticed, or there would be a price to pay later.

Papyrus was sure his brother could think of a few gloating words to spit at him, ridicule him for his apparent weakness.

As if in his mind, he wasn't already chiding himself enough for his damn stupidity.

'What where you thinking, you fucking moron!' it was basically screaming at him. 'Why not open your arms to the enemy and offer them a hug of acceptance, while you are at it!'

But there was another voice inside his head too. A voice that had been there all along, but Papyrus had managed to comfortably drown in a need for survival and a fear for the dangers this world possessed.

A voice that he never really heeded, except once a day, when it told him that maybe he should pass by his brother's post while on patrol. You know, just to make sure the damned lazybones wasn't slacking off again.

A voice that had spurred him into a reckless attack, driven by pure instinct, which he would most likely get to regret later.

Because while the dog couple is certainly intimidated by him, afraid even, they are technically royal guards, for as much as that title still means these days. They would go to Undyne.

And while Papyrus likes Undyne, mostly in a 'You are one badass motherfucker and I respect that' kind of way, he'd rather not deal with her when she was pissed.

The few who survived such an encounter could attest to that.

Messing with the royal guards was the number one reason for getting her pissed. Being a royal guard yourself was not an exception to this rule.

It might even make things worse. Undyne does not abide mutiny.

With a weary sigh, Papyrus brings his thoughts back to the present. He would have to deal with her later.

He observes Sans sitting on the couch, still terribly slumped. The smaller skeleton didn't bother taking of his sneakers when he came in, a wet snow track showing his route from door to sofa.

It irritates Papyrus endlessly, so many things about his brother do, and he grasps onto the emotion tightly, glad to be back on familiar terrain.

But it doesn't feel as real as it should. It never has.

How did they end up like this?

"Sans, you're making a mess again." He scoffs, stalking over to his older brother and bumping into his legs with his boot to catch the other's attention.

Sans looks up at him with the usual look of disinterest. Papyrus has noticed it getting progressively worse lately, more empty.

Somewhere, deep inside, this unnerves him.

He feels like saying more, like getting angry and shouting at his brother. Maybe then Sans would respond, get defiant or stubborn and yell something back, like old times.

Basically do anything besides sitting there looking like a kicked puppy.

But Sans breaks the silence first.

"Why?" He asks.

Papyrus crosses his arms over his chest, taking comfort in the gesture. He looks down at his brother with a look that he expertly infuses with just the right amount of disdain to be convincing.

It's near painful.

As it turns out, he has been contemplating this exact question the entire walk home, and is yet to come up with a satisfactory answer that appeases the stronger inside voice calling him an idiotic, suicidal asshole for caring about the well-being of anybody besides himself.

Why? Was it even worth it at all?

But he also knew Sans would ask, predictable as he is, which is why the reply comes easily, naturally, with not even a beat of hesitation. The Great Papyrus always comes up with the best answers.

"Because, getting dusted in such a pathetic way would really only reflect poorly on me." His voice is dripping contempt, seeing as it's not even an entirely untruthful answer. "You are a worthless excuse for a monster, Sans, but you are also my relative, meaning that if you're going to die you should at the very least do so fighting."

When Sans looks up, Papyrus is more than a little relieved to see that some fire has returned to those eye sockets, probably spurred on by the offhandedness of the excuse.

"Ah yes, of course. I would never want the oh-so great Papyrus to look bad because of me. Whatever was I thinking, bro." Sarcasm drips from every word, but at least he sounds like Sans is supposed to sound, which is good enough for Papyrus.

"You weren't thinking. You never are." Papyrus retorts coldly, turning but bumping his brother's legs again in the process, a bit harder than strictly necessary, just because he's still low-key pissed. "I know you are weak, but the least you could do is put on some kind of death struggle, instead of just hanging there like a wet rag."

He looks at Sans from the corner of his sockets as he utters his next words, looking for a reaction, anything.

"It's almost as if you _want_ to die."

The older brother laughs instead, throwing his head back against the couch, and it's the most bitter sounding noise Papyrus has ever heard.

Heartless and without merit. A bit like he himself feels.

He wants to say more, but just then Sans winces and brings a hand to his skull, rubbing slightly. When his fingers come away, there is dust sticking to them.

He hates to admit it in hindsight, but there is a tiny flare of panic in Papyrus's nonexistent gut. He pushes it down hard and fast, instead briskly approaching and laying a head against the top of Sans's skull to bend it downwards.

Sans grunts softly in pain, but allows himself to be man-handled, going slightly tense at being touched at all.

There is a thin crack in the bone, a tiny denture in the skull with small fissures extending from the edges, like when you drop something heavy onto a patch of ice.

"Looks like she did get you." Papyrus observes softly, trying to ignore the insistent will to go find Dogaressa and kill her after all.

If he's fast, he can still catch up to her.

Sans hums a bit and shrugs as best as he can while leaned like he is, an uncomfortable position. "Can't be too bad, if I'm not dead."

"The cracks will most likely get bigger as they heal. It will be a scar." Papyrus lets go and steps back, frowning at the carelessness on his brother's features.

"Oh, golly." The sarcasm is back tenfold, now that the distance between the two has increased again and physical contact has ceased. "Guess I get to look as cool as you do, bro."

Papyrus looks disapproving at the notion, almost subconsciously passing a hand over his face and feeling the old cracks running down his right eye socket, no light flickering in its depth.

His opponent had thought it a good idea to try and gauge Papyrus' eye out. Too bad skeletons don't have eyes.

It was only one of the many scars littering the younger brother's bones, but it was the most obvious one. A testament to his bravery and survivaal.

When he realizes what he's doing, Papyrus's drops his hand back to his side quickly, clenching a gloved, hoping Sans didn't notice. He turns around to occupy his mind with something, anything else.

"Do I have to do everything around here." He huffs, when he sees his brother's rock prisoner lying on the table.

It is actually just a stupid stone Sans brought in one day, out of fucking nowhere. calling it a pet.

When Papyrus had informed him they didn't do 'pets' Sans had re-assigned it with the tittle 'convict', and had even gone as far as to build a tiny prison out of sticks to contain it in.

Papyrus was pretty sure his brother did these kinds of things solely to get on his nerves, but he ended up feeding the blasted thing anyway.

But not too often. Starving your prisoners is an ideal way to get information out of them.

He walks over and brushes the few dried bread crumbs off, seeing it as the perfect excuse to flee to the kitchen when depositing them in the trash bin.

He's not even sure why. Why he wants to get himself away from his brother and this conversation as fast as possible.

When he returns to the living room a few minutes later, Sans is gone. Probably off to that hellhole of a bar he insists on spending his free time at. The mere thought makes Papyrus thankful to be lacking a stomach.

Instead, he stomps around the house doing anything and everything to distract himself of the bothersome thoughts regarding his brother's wellbeing.

He does not fix the squeaky door.

* * *

The thought lingers for a while. The panic squeezing around his soul, making it hard to concentrate.

Papyrus does contemplate the notion of going to talk to somebody, just to get it of his chest, but it's an idea easily dismissed.

Despite being amazing and popular and strong and quite handsome, Papyrus didn't have a lot of friends. Or any friends, for that matter.

Not that it was something he wanted, fear was as good as friendliness on any day.

But isolation.

Isolation makes you wearisome.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Every time we lie awake._  
 _After every hit we take_.  
 _Every feeling that I get_.  
 _But I haven't missed you yet._

 _Only when I stop to think about it._

* * *

"Pass me another one, Grillby."

The elemental grumbles slightly in response, which in his case sounds more like a crackling fire, but slides another glass over the counter nonetheless.

It's a testament to how shitty Sans looks right now. He hasn't seen a mirror yet, but he doesn't need one to now he's a proper mess.

Tired, dirty, covered in half-melting snow. A fucking crack in his skull...

He shouldn't even be walking around like this, a bare display of his fragility, but heck he really needed a drink. Or maybe six drinks.

Besides, Sans knows Grillby's is a good place to be. A safe haven compared to their underground hell.

The monsters that come here are just looking to drown their hardships under a hefty layer of alcohol, or whatever vice you prefer.

Greasy food, a nice smoke, gambling... or mustard, his tired mind provides, nursing his glass filled with the off-yellowish substance.

In here, you can let a sliver of weakness show. They are all comrades in arms. Or comrades in misfortune, at the very least.

No wonder Papyrus abhors this place.

And _if_ a skirmish breaks out, it was always short lived. Grillby does not tolerate fights in his establishment, mainly because the dust is such a pain to clean up.

Sans takes another sip, enjoying the burn caused by the spicy not-quite-liquid sliding down his throat.

Despite what some may think, skeletons do need to eat, to generate their magic, like any other monster. It just doesn't come back out, the way it does with some other species. The conversion from food to magic is almost instantly.

As far as nourishment is concerned though, condiments do a crappy job at providing anything useful.

But Sans revels in the spicy tang it provides, the satisfying mushy texture.

To him, everything pretty much tastes like shit anyway.

Without realizing it, he has drained his glass again. He slides it back across the counter, shooting Grillby a meaningful look.

The bartender takes the glass away, but doesn't refill it, glaring at Sans slightly.

The small skeleton stares back, watching the purple flames reflect in the elemental's glasses.

Why does he even wear that thing, he doesn't have any eyes?

His phalanges trace a small groove in the dark wood of the counter, noting some dust stuck in the crevice.

Huh, he doesn't remember that being there yesterday?

Must have been a wild night.

Sans isn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed he wasn't there to witness it, so he settles on indifference. Pretty much his default emotion by now.

When he looks up Grillby is still cleaning that same glass, cloth rubbing along the edges almost gently, but not quite.

Sans realizes he's not getting another drink.

"You're an asshole, you know." He says, and there's a distinct hissing in response.

The bird monster on the other bar stool, who to Sans seems to be permanently glued there, looks up.

"Grillby says you need to pay your fucking tab." It helpfully translates and then, as if as an afterthought. "And you're an asshole too."

Sans shrugs carelessly. He isn't sure when paying his debt had gone from a 'definitely soon' to a 'maybe someday' priority, but it has.

Probably around the same time his increasing apathy started overpowering every other aspect of his life. Getting up and doing something productive has lost all appeal.

Well, true to form, Sans couldn't give less of a fuck.

And if he died before settling his tab, Grillby might go to Papyrus to look for a payment.

Now _there's_ an exchange Sans would pay to see.

After a few more moments of enjoying the relative peace the bar has to offer, the light of unnatural flames in the air and low talking sounds in the background, Sans gets up and heads for the door.

He could go home. Papyrus has most likely gone out again, ever diligent when it comes to completing his patrols and pleasing Undyne, especially as he might now be on the captain's bad side... or well, worse side.

"Fucking suck-up." Sans mumbles to no-one in particular, pushing down the small sliver of worry in the back of his mind.

In the end, Sans is too antsy to go home yet. Instead, he takes a shortcut.

* * *

It's snowing again, small fluffy flakes adding to to the white carpet already reaching halfway up his boots.

Papyrus stamps through it, not caring if he's being loud or obvious.

Normally stealth is the preferable method of survival in their world, but right now Papyrus is dripping with irritation and malice.

Any monster would have to be a total idiot to try and approach him now, and deserves to die for its stupidity.

On second thought, that might be exactly what he needs. Something to kill... or at the very least seriously maim. Get some of that frustration out of his system.

And while Papyrus does not revel in ending someone's live the way some other inhabitants of the underground do, the tall skeleton has found fighting to be an excellent stress relief.

"Howdy, friend!"

Fucking hell, what was that just now about idiots approaching him?

The small golden flower looks up at him with that stupid innocent grin of its, and Papyrus has to refrain from stomping on it right there and then.

Instead, he shoots it a glare that could curdle milk, hoping the stupid weed will just leave him alone already.

Somehow, the flower takes his silence as a sign of companionship, and it ducks underground again, only to pop up right next to his boot.

It has to crane its stem backwards to look at his face now, but seems undaunted by this.

"Gee Papyrus, you look awfully agitated right now." It says, voice dripping with compassion. Papyrus almost gags at how sincere it sounds. "Is something bothering you, friend?"

The skeleton shoots a quick look around, making sure nobody is here to see him talking to a fucking flower, before crouching down and staring at it angrily.

"I am not your friend." He almost hisses, but the stupid thing doesn't even look hurt. Rather, its eyes shine with a deep-rooted compassion... almost pity, that makes Papyrus sick to his non-existent stomach.

He wants to destroy it so badly, just blast it all the way into oblivion... but he doesn't. Because he knows it's futile.

When the flower first popped up, weeks ago, he tried uprooting the thing numerous times, to no avail. Papyrus had thought Sans was a good dodger, but this thing was just down-right eerie.

Like it knew what he was going to do, before he even knew it himself.

And when he attacked, it somehow felt... unpleasant.

Papyrus found he couldn't quite describe the feeling. Like the entire world hiccuped. Like it stuttered for the barest of second. And then he would miss, even if he was certain his attack was going to hit home moments before.

It was confusing. It was unnatural.

It made Papyrus profoundly uncomfortable. And the way the golden flower just kept smiling, almost knowingly, didn't improve matters.

In the end, Papyrus had given up on attempting to kill it, trying every other method he could think of to drive it away.

He ignored it, he insulted it, he went as far as to upright ask why the stupid thing didn't leave him alone.

It always came back.

So now, he tolerated it. Painful as that was.

"Gosh, Papyrus." It said quietly. "You really _are_ testy today. Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened." He grumbled, flicking one of its petals harshly. It flinched, but didn't move away.

Instead, it gave a small disapproving shake of its head, leaves rustling softly. "It is not a good habit to lie, Papyrus. Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's not a good habit to spy on people." He snarls back angrily. Papyrus knows Flowey follows him around sometimes.

When he first noticed it, he was mildly irritated. Which quickly became infuriation, until it bordered on paranoia. He still hadn't found out what it wanted from him after all this time.

"I'm not spying." Flowey looks sincerely hurt at the accusation, making Papyrus grin. "I'm just looking out for a friend." And it actually winks as it says this. Gross.

"Im not your friend!" he yells, and makes a grab for its stem. The world does its little faltering thing, and before he can blink it has ducked underground.

"You know all about looking out for others, don'tcha Papyrus?" It pops back up a safe distance away, continuing undeterred, as if it didn't just survive a murder attempt.

Papyrus glares daggers at it, but doesn't say anything. He gets up and starts walking again, totally intent on ignoring the flower for now.

But Flowey won't give up so easily. It pops up ahead of him so as to keep the one-sided conversation going.

"I know you do. I saw what happened earlier today, with your brother..." Still only icy silence in response, but it can tell Papyrus is listening by the way he tilts his skull while walking.

"It was very impressive, what you did there. But of course, _I_ knew you had it in you all along." Flowey looks almost... proud of him.

The flower keeps following him along the path. Papyrus hopes they encounter some people soon, so the weed will leave him alone.

Flowey doesn't normally show itself to others.

"Isn't it nice if you are able to protect those you care about?" There is something deeper in that statement, hidden behind an impenetrable layer of remembrance and regret.

Papyrus ignores it and turns on the flower again, face contorted in anger.

"I do not care about him." He grounds out harshly.

"What did I just say about lying, friend?"

Papyrus grinds his teeth together, not bothering to correct the stupid flower on its assessment of their relationship again.

"But if you truly don't care, then... Why did you bother at all?" It's an innocent question, but Papyrus stops moving, frozen to the spot at being so directly confronted.

He realizes that he does not have an answer.

One stupid lapse of judgement, and here it is putting doubt into a lifetime of telling himself everyone is out to get him, no one can be trusted and you can never show your back to anyone.

A lifetime of teaching himself not to get attached to others, because inadvertently they will end up either dying or betraying you, and he doesn't know which is worse.

Because in this world it's kill or be killed, a lesson which Papyrus has had to learn the hard way.

It's a steep learning curve, one that he is well acquainted with. He has seen things... done things... that even Sans does not know about.

"I'm sorry." Flowey says, eyes filled with that disgusting piteous expression again at noticing Papyrus' reaction. "It's just that..."

The flower looks at him almost hesitatingly. "I... also had a sibling once. T-they're not around anymore, because I... failed them. I just don't think you should make the same mistakes I did."

Papyrus frowns. Really? That's what this is all about? Some kind of misguided sense of kinship because this stupid flower can't deal with the dead of their weak-ass family.

"Sounds to me like they got their due." He makes sure that his voice sounds especially hateful, hoping this might be the final straw to finally get this disillusioned monster off his back.

And for a moment, he almost thinks it works, when Flowey just hangs its head low and doesn't immediately respond.

Then it snaps back up as if nothing happened, petals wiggling slightly as it breaks out in a giggle.

"Golly, Papyrus, you are such a cynic. But I think you know better. Or you will, soon. I'll be keeping an eye out."

And with that it disappears into the earth, not coming back up.

Papyrus waits a second, but when it is apparent the flower has left, he stamps the ground in barely contained frustration.

What did that freak want with him, anyway? Always preaching about the power of love and friendship, and now this?

All those years, carefully building a shield around himself, that the cruelty of the world may never touch him.

Now it has been breached... and Papyrus notices it hurts.

* * *

The door makes an almost hollow sound as he knocks on it, bone against wood.

"Knock knock."

There isn't initially an answer, so Sans tries again.

"Who's there?" The voice asks, trembling slightly.

"Nunya."

"Nunya who?"

"Nunya fucking business, lady!"

She laughs, high-pitched and hysteric as always.

Sans grins, leaning his back against the door and sliding down to his butt.

The wood is cold against him, but he ignores it, finding he lacks the energy to stand for some reason. He's really tired.

"Then why did you knock, you jerk." The woman answers, and Sans feels his smile get impossibly wider.

"I can do whatever the fuck I want."

She laughs again, before silence settles in between them. Sans leans his head back too, watching the snow covered treetops and trying to catch a glimpse of the rock ceiling somewhere above.

There are no stars in the ruins, he thinks, not even fake ones.

"What's the deal, cat got your tongue?" She asks after a few minutes, noticing his uncharacteristic quietness.

"Jokes on you, I don't have a tongue." and then, after some internal debate, he adds. "I'm just not feeling it today. Things are fucked."

"How so?" She asks.

Sans turns his head, pushing his hands down into his pockets to brace them against the freezing wind.

He doesn't want to answer. He doesn't even want to think about this, let alone say it out loud.

But this woman, whoever she is, behind the door. She is different. Sure, she is crazy and unstable, definitely dangerous. But she knows what it is to care.

Sans remembers vaguely about her mentioning being present at the war, the one between humans and monsters, the one that made the Underground what it is today.

She was there before their world became an underground dystopia. She remembers a time where it was live and let live.

"If you are not going to say anything, I'm just going to go. I have traps to check." She says, voice trembling with insanity.

Sans hears her scuffling footsteps dimly through the thick wood.

"I was happy today." He quickly says, before she can get too far away for his voice to carry.

She huffs loudly. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Is it? I thought I had forgotten what it feels like."

She simply laughs at his dramatics. "You're such a fucking cynic. What made you happy?"

Sans hesitates again, but just those simple words already felt like they had lifted an immense weight of his heart, so he keeps going.

"I was happy, because for a moment... I thought _he_ cared." He realizes the truth of these words as he speaks them. "He doesn't, though. Nobody does." He quickly adds, but a lot less certain.

He stands, turning around and pushing both fists against the door harshly, not caring about what she may think of that.

"Why?!" His voice has an almost desperate edge to it, getting progressively louder. "Why now?! Why does it matter if he cares about me?! I can't do this, not again."

His head hurts and his left eye burns and there is something in his memories, something about a house in New Home and hands with holes in them and Sans feel like he's choking, even though he doesn't need to breathe.

He almost thinks she has left him alone, when her voice echoes through the barrier that divides them.

"It matters if he cares about you... because you care about him."

* * *

There is an unmistakable tension in the air, like a heavy weight that hangs over the entire house and threatens to crush them both.

Neither says anything, not quite avoiding the other, but not lingering in the same room for long either.

Papyrus goes to his room early for a change, not bothering to make up some kind of excuse. Why should he, it's as much his house as it is Sans'.

He lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling, thinking about yellow flowers and the tight, uncompromising fear that gripped him when he thought Sans was going to die.

He needs to know if his brother still cares about anything.

Sans postpones sleep for as long as possible, knowing it will only bring nightmares. He hangs around the house doing nothing, picking up a dirty sock he left in the living room but promptly putting it back down.

There, he picked it up. Just like his brother asked him.

He thinks about a time when things were better and the danger of caring about somebody besides yourself.

He needs to know if his brother still cares about him.


	4. Chapter 4

_I hear a voice say: "don't be so blind!"  
It's telling me all these things, that you would probably hide._

 _Am I your one and only desire?_

 _Am I the reason you breathe,_  
 _or am I the reason you cry?_

* * *

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"What?" Papyrus jumps at the sound and narrowly avoids getting a spear to the face. His boots grind against the ground and leave furrows in the snow as he slides back.

"I said, you are going to die if you keep this up." Undyne repeats, preparing another attack and launching it with lethal accuracy.

He brings up a wall of bones to deflect, feeling the sheer force of her hits thumping against his magic all the way to his soul.

"Keep what up?" He asks, even if he knows the question will probably annoy her..

When the hits stop and he brings the wall down, she's right there in front of him.

"Don't play dumb, Paps, it doesn't become you." Her fist shoots out but he catches it easily, gloved hand gripping her similarly clad forearm. "As a matter of fact it doesn't become anyone."

She swipes her foot to trip him up, and almost manages to do so, his balance lost when she pushes her legs against his.

But Papyrus has been here before and regains his footing in an instant.

An instant too late, as her next blow hits him square in the chest plate and throws him backwards, toppling him over straight onto his behind.

"Not to mention, it annoys the shit out of me." Undyne bares over him, claws at her sides and a slightly displeased look in her eye. But the manic grin betrays her generally good mood.

"You're distracted, and it's going to get you dusted. Not to mention it makes you look like a lost child. Fucking pathetic!"

When she outstretches her hand towards him, it takes Papyrus a moment to actually take it, eyeing it warily instead.

And when he does take the offered appendage, he makes sure to keep his body tense. As if expecting her to start attacking again any moment.

"That's more like it." Undyne says, pulling him up and throwing a hand around his shoulder in a gesture of friendship that almost breaks his clavicle.

Papyrus grunts something none-descriptive, waiting for her to actually ask before spilling anything.

He might avoid the conversation all together this way. Also, Undyne doesn't like it when her guards talk unless spoken to.

"So, what's got your panties in a bunch, bonehead?"

Papyrus shrugs her off harshly, the unprofessional address signaling training is now officially over.

"Does it fucking matter?" He asks, truly trying to gauge if she wants to hear an answer or if she's just being a nosy asshole.

With Undyne you never know.

"Look, I get it. You're trying to put on the tough act. I know this shit by now." She raises her hands in an almost apologetic manner. "And normally, I couldn't care less what the fuck you get up to in your off time. But..."

She approaches again, getting almost too close for comfort, but Papyrus doesn't budge an inch. Because that would be showing weakness.

"But when anybody messes with my guards, _their_ business _becomes_ _my_ business. And I don't play nice."

Her face is so close to his, Papyrus is pretty sure he'd be able to smell her stinking fish breath, had he the organs required to do so. He starts laughing instead.

"Is that what this is about? You worry about that fucking dog couple? Truly, Undyne, you disappoint me."

Her face scrunches up in a disapproving furrow for a few seconds, before the glint in her eye is back and her usual grimace reappears.

"Pfff, yeah, as if I care what some tight-ass like you may think." She cracks her knuckles carelessly while talking, a habit which irritates Papyrus to no end. "Seriously though, what was that all about? I have better things to do than deal with two whining bitches like them on my doorstep."

"It was nothing." Papyrus answers, just a tad too quickly. He forces his voice into a casual tone which he hopes sounds convincing. "They were out of line, I put them in their place. They should know better than to mess with my things..."

" _Your things_?" There is an obvious edge of humor to her tone. "Well, maybe you should keep a closer eye on your things, then. Or put a leash on him."

An unexpected heat rises in Papyrus's face at the mental image, but he pushes it down immediately.

"I don't tell Sans what to do. I'm not his fucking keeper." The tall skeleton crosses his arms stubbornly, but Undyne is still grinning at him.

"Whatever you say, Paps. But you do know your words and actions are not exactly matching up right now?"

He doesn't even grace that with an answer, just stares back at her defiantly.

"Look, I'm actually saying this as a friend and not as your captain, ok? Know what you get yourself into. Because if you go about this wrong, it will be the end of both of you."

There is sincerity in those words that makes Papyrus advert his gaze, even if he knows he won't heed the advice.

"It's not worth it, Paps. Caring about somebody like that, I mean. It's not worth it. It's not worth anything."

"Does Alphys know you think that?"

It's out before he can think about it, another testament to how distracted he is right now.

In the blink of an eye, she is on him, one fist curled in his scarf and another tight around his wrist.

It hurts, and he's dimly aware of how easily she could snap the bone in two.

"Don't." She hisses, and he can count each one of her jagged yellow teeth as she does so. "Don't go there."

"What? You're going to tell me it's any different?" He can feel his eyes glowing red, magic swirling at the surface, but Undyne doesn't seem intimidated in the least.

"It _is_ different. It also nearly destroyed me." Her hand tightens even more and the pain shoots up his arm unpleasantly, but he doesn't so much as flinch. "Don't make the same mistakes I did."

With a monumental effort, he pulls his arm loose, entire bone aching. Undyne releases him with a shove and a huff.

"You're the second person to say that to me today." Papyrus remarks idly, jaw set firm.

"Oh yeah? Guess it's obvious to everyone that you're a fucking idiot." Her voice sounds almost tired.

Then she snaps back into her usual manic disposition, aggressive aura and all.

"Same time tomorrow. Don't be late or I'll snap your neck. Guardsman dismissed." She waves at him to go, and he does, not feeling like trying her patience anymore than he already has today.

When he's almost at the mouth of the cave, she calls out to him again.

"Oh, and Paps? Don't cause anymore trouble."

The sheer look in her eyes says more than any words ever could.

* * *

Sans is still in bed when he hears the front door open and close. He debates in favor of just staying under the covers and ignoring the world for a little while longer, but decides against it.

When he comes to the landing he looks over the railing, watching as Papyrus brushes of the snow from his armor onto the doormat, where it slowly starts melting.

His brother looks up and catches his eye, and Sans involuntarily prepares for a screaming tirade about him not being at his post.

But nothing is forthcoming.

"You're home early, boss." He tries, and Papyrus looks away, starting to brush off snow again.

"The training was done." He says simply, before swiftly making his way into the kitchen.

Sans descants the stairs, noting it is almost noon. He slept in longer than usual, for some reason. And he's not even properly rested yet, his head feels like a fucking brick.

The sound of cutlery pulls him out of his reverie and he follows his brother into the kitchen.

He is eating the lasagna from last night, cold. The microwave has stopped working since Papyrus took it out into the forest to make a human trap and the blasted thing got covered in snowfall, a few weeks ago.

Sans helps himself to the what is left in the container, eating straight out of the small plastic box.

Papyrus shoots him an irritated glance but doesn't comment.

"How's your head?" He asks suddenly, and Sans almost chokes at being addressed in such a fashion.

"It's fine." He blurts out curtly, then adjusts his tone "I mean, it just hurts like hell, but... It's fine. Could be worse."

Then, in an almost contemplative tone, he adds: "Could be dead."

His brother's fork stops just inches from his mouth. He looks at Sans for a second, then continues eating. Sans files this reaction away for later.

"What happened to your arm?" He noticed the way Papyrus held it the moment he came in. Rigid, preferring to keep it close to his body.

Papyrus seems surprised that he's aware at all, but doesn't hesitate when answering. "Training."

They eat in silence for a few more moments, and Sans would almost call it comfortable.

"You know Alphys, right?"

Sans startles again at the suddenness of the question. His brother rarely ever asks him anything, certainly nothing of this nature.

"A-Alphys? Yeah, sure, I know her." He doesn't dare look up from the container, fearing eye contact may somehow break whatever spell it is that is causing them to have a half-way decent conversation for once.

"Do you know what's been going on between her and Und- the captain?"

"I wouldn't know, boss." He pokes at the pasta with a fork. "I mean, I don't really know her _that_ well. We're more like uh... acquaintances?"

Papyrus sighs disappointingly. "Of course you are... How do you even know her at all then?" His brother raises his head and they end up meeting eyes after all.

"I-I don't know." Sans can practically feel his own awkwardness radiating in the air. "Don't I know everyone, bro?"

Papyrus tilts his skull, then continues eating as if nothing happened, not even acknowledging Sans' choice of nickname.

* * *

Papyrus doesn't like dirty dishes, and always washes them immediately after eating. Today is no different.

Sans hurries to finish his meal, so his brother will wash the container also, otherwise he'll be forced to do it himself.

Or get yelled at again if he doesn't.

He brings the small plastic box over to the counter, throwing it down next to the sink, and sure enough Papyrus flicks it into the soapy water.

Sans almost asks his younger brother if he needs any help. He remembers very distantly a time in which it was not unusual to offer his assistance in such a mundane tasks.

He doesn't though.

Mainly because he feels like there has been enough family-bonding time for one day, better not to try his luck.

Besides, he's lazy and doesn't really _want_ to help.

But when he turns to leave, a sudden dizziness befalls him. The world spins in an almost sickening fashion, as if it simply decided to stop being steady.

Sans pitches backwards, vision going disturbingly crossed, and he has the vivid image of breaking his skull open on their off-colored tile kitchen floor.

What a way to go out.

But his head never connects. Not with the floor at least.

There is someone at his back, breaking his fall gently.

It's still hard, as hard as the floor would be. Armor.

Sans feels the soft fabric of Papyrus's scarf against his upper vertebrae. He feels the cold metal against his back. He feels lanky arms encircling his ribcage and grasping his elbows.

The first thing he notices is that the hold is wet, from lukewarm water those hands had still been submerged in mere seconds before. Sans should probably thank Undyne someday for honing his brother's fast reflexes.

The second thing he notices is that the hold is bare, bone against bone. Sans has just come from bed, hasn't put on a hoodie yet, clad in nothing but his shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt. Papyrus has taken off his gloves to do the dishes.

The third thing he notices is his brother's soul, so close now that he can practically feel it through his back. The heat starts rising into his cheeks almost immediately too, embarrassingly so.

Papyrus notices of course. He pushes Sans back to his feet and distances himself from the smaller skeleton in one swift motion.

His face takes on the perfect image of disdain, though there is a notable red tinge to his cheekbones as well.

"Don't fucking do that, Sans!"

"Sorry, boss." Sans grins again, golden tooth glinting in the harsh kitchen lights. "I just saw there was work to be done here, so I thought I might as well give you the _slip._ "

And with that remark he makes himself scarce as fast as his short legs will carry him.

* * *

He goes back to his room, seeing as Papyrus isn't going to gripe about his absence of work today, he might as well take advantage of it.

The dizziness persists, and Sans also realizes why he slept so much tonight. He might need to be a bit more careful or this stupid head wound will come back to bite him in the ass.

He lays on the mattress, dirty blankets bunched into a ball and discarded somewhere in a corner of the room. The ceiling is about as interesting as it ever was, but he tries to count the cracks to distract from the agitation in his chest cavity.

An almost uncomfortable burning has taken residence there, a feeling of unrest that insists he do something, anything to elevate it.

It is a feeling Sans recognizes, but hasn't felt in a long time.

But ignoring it certainly doesn't seem to be working.

After stubbornly trying to suppress it some more, he gives up.

His magic manifests itself almost effortlessly, as if it knows exactly what it needs to do.

And for the first time in longer than he can remember, Sans touches himself.

Slowly, languidly, sliding his hand up and down the length while trying to muffle small whines and whimpers at how sensitive he has become after going months without.

He wonders what brought this on.

Had it really been that long since he had physical contact? Had he just become so affection starved, that a simple touch could elicit such an extreme response?

Or was it more?

His soul pulses at the notion. It certainly knew exactly what it was reacting to.

And as he steadily builds up to that delicious point of no return, that edge that he will gladly throw himself off of to chase the rapidly building pleasure, Sans is thinking about his brother.

He thinks about those hands on other places than just his elbows. He thinks about them touching him all over, phalanges rubbing over his ribs and his spine.

He thinks about that voice, that almost complacent tone during lunch, the different sounds Sans could evoke in him.

And when he reaches his peak, still far too soon as far as Sans is concerned, it is with his younger brother's name on his tongue.

Sans feels the sins crawling down his back.

And it's the most alive he has felt in ages.

* * *

 **And so the sin begins...**

 **I'm also on Tumblr under the name iinoyb**


	5. Chapter 5

_So many thoughts that I can't get out of my head.  
I try to live without you, every time I do I feel dead.  
I know what's best for me.  
But I want you instead._

* * *

The streets of Snowdin are slightly more desolate than usual, a fact which Papyrus does register in the back of his mind, but stows away to deal with at another time.

Right now, he's too busy thinking about his own predicament to care much about other people's problems.

Too bad other people don't quite share his sentiment. As he's making his way over to the bridge which leads out of town, towards the dense forest surrounding their settlement, he is approached by the female monster who runs the local store.

Her body language betrays a certain nervousness, not unusual for people that find themselves confronting the second in command. In this case, however, the anxiousness is overthrown by a much higher degree of desperation.

"Sir, I need a moment." She states, ears perking slightly, and it's the fact that it sounds more like a demand than an actual request, which makes Papyrus pause.

"What is it?" He allows, crossing his arms to show his impatience.

"I was wondering if you knew what's happening with the supply lines?" The bunny asks, adjusting her hat slightly.

The skeleton relaxes some, real surprise creeping on his face. "The supply lines? Those are not my fucking business, ask the River person."

"You think I wouldn't have tried that already?" There is some actual defiance in her tone when she says this. "They're not here. Haven't been for some days now."

Papyrus sighs hard and deep, really making an effort out of it, despite the lack of lungs, just to show this woman how much he does not want to deal with this right now. "And this is my problem how exactly?"

A tiny smirk pulls up the corner of the bunny monster's mouth. "Supply lines are under Royal Guard jurisdiction... Sir."

"Right." He hums, trying not to clench his fists too obviously. Sometimes he swears the people of this town are just consorting to make his life difficult.

Sure, he understands it's just hate for authorities in general, misplaced and vented onto him as the local figure of power...

Still, he has his own shit to sort out.

"Sadly, I'm entirely too busy now." He grunts out, teeth clenched together. "I'll look into it when I find the time, but for now you'll just have to deal with it."

The monster opens her mouth to say more, but he breezes right by her, already halfway to the bridge before she can blink. "Or take it up with the captain, or whatever..."

The shopkeeper grunts something none too pleased at his retreating back, before crossing her arms and returning back inside, leaving the streets of Snowdin bare and empty.

* * *

When Sans realizes what he has done, it hits him hard.

Not in a good way, not in a bad way either. It just hits him.

For somebody that has felt so depressingly empty for such a long time, he sure is in emotional turmoil right now.

He rolls out of bed, which in his case isn't much more than a dingy mattress in the corner of his room, and hits his skull hard against the wooden floorboards.

The resounding thud echoes through his head, an immediate ache setting in, centered around the crack on the top left.

Sans concentrates on it, grounds himself in the pain.

It helps him still his swirling thoughts, grasping at the strands and detangling them one by one.

With some effort he stumbles onto unsteady feet, empty eye sockets peering into the comforting darkness surrounding him.

He cares about Papyrus.

That is the first thing he realizes. The proverbial red thread connecting all other thoughts.

He cares... more than that, he craves.

Sans is not sure if it has been like this all along, and he's just been in blissful denial. If it's something slowly building ever since his brush with death. Or maybe an instant connection when their souls were in close proximity for the first time in longer than he cares to remember.

Not that it matters any...

His hands grope the edge of his cluttered desk, phalanges brushing the rough surface, trying to find what he buried so long ago.

He cares. He craves. He needs... something.

Sans doesn't know anymore. All he knows is that something is changing, he needs to act while he has the chance.

He needs to do.. something?

Fuck, why couldn't things just be cut and simple for once in his miserable life.

His hands close around the key, feeling the old rusty texture. God, he sure hopes the lock isn't oxidized shut.

Would anything even be in there?

Well, only one way to find out...

* * *

With some effort, the puzzle does look like him now. If you look at it sideways... while squinting... and with your back to it.

Fuck it-

Papyrus stamps at the snow angrily, sending a flurry of iced particles through the cold afternoon air. It makes a satisfying small cloud that settles pretty quickly.

Undyne was right, he really is distracted.

But it's not like that's his fault, it all on his stupid idiot of a brother.

First nearly getting himself dusted, pulling the poor depressed victim shtick on his ass.

Then Sans goes all weird and chummy on him.

And now...

Ugh, why couldn't things just be simple for once.

He at least makes sure the puzzle is in operable order before he leaves it. It would be precisely his kind of luck if a stinking human came through on the exact day that he's not functioning in optimal condition.

But when Sans fell on him... That is to say, when Sans decided it was opportune to start swooning like a damsel in distress in the middle of his kitchen.

Papyrus has felt the surge of gaining EXP quite a few times now, and for some reason that feeling is the closest he comes to describing it.

A small thrill that runs through the body and shakes the core.

A surge of energy that leaves you giddy and light-headed.

His boots thump against the stone bridge harshly, the rhythm at least comforting to him.

Most disturbingly though, he finds the two feelings eerily similar in another, more disconcerting way.

They both leave you longing for more.

* * *

Today certainly turned out to be an interesting day for returning to older habits.

Visiting the room behind their house has filled Sans with a nervous kind of energy, and he ends up not only taking a shower and putting on some fresh clothes, but even cleaning the living room a bit.

Not much, mind you. He's not _that_ hysterical. But at least it looks less like the garbage dump now, and more like an actual room.

And who knew their couch was actually green? Sans certainly didn't.

He is fortifying the cell their rock prisoner resides in, rearranging the small wooden sticks into a stable construct once more, when Papyrus comes home.

His brother looks marginally surprised that he is actually doing something more... productive, for a change. Then he sees the rest of the room and Sans think for a moment that Papyrus's his turn to faint now.

His eye sockets certainly get big for a moment, as he observes their living space.

"You cleaned." He states, not really a question, but sounding slightly non-believing.

"No shit." Comes Sans's automatic response, barely suppressing a tiny grin. He kind of wants to hit himself for acting like a smart ass again, but doesn't.

Because the corner of Papyrus's mouth pulls up minutely in a smirk.

Maybe he actually thought Sans was funny for once. Maybe he just approves of the cleaning.

The older brother doesn't know.

He only knows it causes a spark of the same warmth he felt earlier, and that is all he needs.

Because it feels infinitely better than the cold emptiness from before.

* * *

Papyrus always answers his phone by the third ring, even when he's doing something else.

Multi-tasking is no problem for the great Papyrus after all.

Before he even has time to properly greet whomever is on the line, Undyne is screaming in his ear hole.

"What the fuck did I tell you about causing problems, Bonehead!"

Papyrus holds the phone at arms length. Not having an eardrum to shatter doesn't make her screeching any more tolerable.

"I didn't do anything!" he yells back, retracing his steps in his mind even as he does so.

Why is everybody on his case today, anyway?

"That's the problem, Paps. If I get one more whiny asshole on my doorstep telling me you sent them..."

Oh, right.

"I didn't send them, exactly..." He grumbles, rolling his eye lights at the empty kitchen.

"Whatever. First those dogs, now this woman... I got enough crap to deal with as it is!"

"Like faulty supply lines."

"Yes, Paps, like fucking supply lines. Which I, by the by, was totally going to tell you about this morning before you distracted me with your whiny bullshit."

Papyrus sees that his pot of pasta has caught on fire. He quickly goes about remedying the situation, while still talking to his captain on the phone.

"Did you call me just to complain? Because I'm kind of busy here..."

He hears her manic laugh through the receiver, cracking slightly.

"I'm you're fucking boss. You don't get to be busy when I'm talking to you." He rolls his eyes again, this time at Sans, who has the audacity to stand in the doorway grinning at his irritation.

Dickhead.

Undye takes a breath and seems to gather her thoughts at last. "Nah, I'm just fucking with ya! I wanted to know if you still have those reports from last month."

"Of course I do." He answers. They are on his desk, sorted by date, length and relative importance.

"Bring them tomorrow." Undyne orders, after which she promptly hangs up on him.

The pot of pasta is slightly blackened, but still looks fairly edible.

Nothing less to be expected from The Great Papyrus, professional multi-tasker.

* * *

"Mettaton is on." Sans comments, slouching back on their couch. His feet barely reach the ground when he sits like this, but he has to admit it's still more comfortable than his bed.

Papyrus looks at him for a second. "You hate Mettaton."

"I do..." Sans confirms. He doesn't need to tell his brother there isn't anything else on TV. There never is.

He just slouches and waits, having put the ball in the other's court for now.

It only takes a few moments before the cushion besides him dips.

Papyrus crosses one leg over the other, his arms too, eyes firmly on the screen instead of on him.

Sans shifts, head now resting on the armrest, feet barely touching his brother's thighs.

It's quiet and peaceful and full of potential.

* * *

That night, for the first time in longer than he cares to admit, Sans does not have a nightmare.

Normally, his nights are filled with darkness, flashing images and the sound of breaking machinery. He can't see anything, hands clamped around his skull in a vice like grip, the echo of pain resonating in the deepest recesses of his thoughts.

This dream is different.

Here, it is light. A red-orange glow illuminates the scene, reflected in the off-white bones of his younger brother.

Papyrus looks up at him.

Because in this memory, he is still smaller than Sans, still unscarred and open.

Tiny phalanges twist in the worn fabric just handed to them, feeling at the tears and tatters.

"Where did you get this?" Papyrus asks, and Sans hates how skeptical he sounds.

So young, yet already there is a trace of defensiveness in his speech, distrust in his stance.

"Does it matter?" Because it shouldn't. Not in their world. They should be happy with what they have to get by.

Papyrus seems to agree, clutching the scarf just a bit tighter, but hesitates. Somewhere, there lingers a trace of childish innocence that compels him to open his mouth again.

"Are they dead?" He asks, slowly starting to wrap the red cloth around his neck.

Sans nods. He knows, because he made sure to thoroughly remove all traces of dust from the garment himself, shaking it off above one of Hotland's many lava pits, watching as the small specks of monster disappeared into the fire.

Papyrus raises his head again, and he looks kind of silly like that. The scarf is way too big for him, covers half his skull, eye sockets barely peeking out above the folds. And even then there is a part of it that trails behind, like some sort of lacerated cape.

"Did you kill them?" His brother wants to knows, and inwardly Sans reels back.

He has only ever been a witness, letting other people do the dirty work, then sweeping in like a thief in the night to take what he can get away with. A scavenger, a bottom feeder.

Whatever it takes to keep alive.

"No." He states firmly, but the look Papyrus gives him fills him with trepidation. Because he can't tell if it's disappointment or relief.

This world is corrupting them. Slowly, but steadily. And Sans doesn't know where it will lead.

He reaches out to fix the scarf around his brother's neck, and Papyrus lets him, though he pouts in a way that Sans almost thinks is adorable.

"I don't need this, it's too hot." He complains.

"Not where we are headed." Sans takes his brother's hand, holds it tightly. "It's not safe here any longer."

"Where are we going?" Papyrus demands, fingers lacing together with those of his brother out of habit.

"I don't know..." Sans sighs. Because he doesn't. He just knows Hotland isn't working out for them anymore.

His little brother looks at him worriedly, and again, Sans sees a trace of uncertainty.

"It's going to be ok." He reassures, with a gentle squeeze. "As long as we have each other, it's all going to be ok."

Sans does not know when he has become such a proficient liar.

But Papyrus smiles at him, a genuine smile, and Sans knows anything is worth it.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. Also, reviews greatly encourage me to keep going, just saying ;)  
**


	6. Chapter 6

_Don't wake me up,  
I am still dreaming.  
The story's undone,  
Unravel at the seams.  
Don't wake me up,  
Death is misleading.  
And when I fall asleep,  
Sleep with your ghost._

* * *

That night, for the first time in longer than he cares to admit, Papyrus has a nightmare.

Normally, he doesn't sleep very much, and when he does, he's practically out like a light. His nights are blissfully empty of thought, one of the only times he can actually feel safe to let up on his constant state of vigilance.

This dream is different.

Here, it is bright. Too bright, shining white down on everything, creating a horrible contrast between his hands and the dust covering them.

They tremble, unsteady as they try to scrub the powder off.

He can't stop thinking about the sounds. The sound it made when he pierced it with his attack. How it whined, kicking and feebly trying to get away from him.

It hadn't died.

Not on the first hit, anyway.

All his resolve had left him after that initial blow, but now it just lay there, half-turned to dust yet still clinging to life somehow. The light in its eyes had already faded, but they were still wide with fear.

And so, Papyrus had struck again. And again.

It took longer than it should have, slowly chipping away at hp, every attack eliciting another pained noise from it, until it died at last.

And then the rush had come. An almost indescribable feeling of euphoria.

It felt good.

Papyrus was sick of being scared. He was sick of being hungry, sick of being cold, sick of being trod on by monsters more powerful than him.

Who did they think they were anyway?

He would show them. If he joined the royal guard, if he made his way up its ranks, he wouldn't need to fear anyone anymore.

He would be able to take care of his brother.

Sans is there, standing in the doorway, looking at him as he methodically rubs his hands clean.

Papyrus can tell he is angry. Disappointed. Maybe even scared.

But if this is what it takes to keep them safe, to survive, then so be it.

He will keep going, leaving a trail of scattered dust in his wake if he must, for as long as it takes, ignoring the part of him that enjoys the thrill of the kill.

He meets Sans's eyes, and for the first time ever sees hate reflected back at him. It fills his soul, mixing with the almost ecstatic feeling of having ended somebodies life, making him strangely giddy and disconnected.

Papyrus knows things will never be the same.

When he moves his fingers, he can still feel the small particles stuck between the joints, despite having scraped at his hands until they hurt.

Skeleton anatomy is full of small crevices, ideal for dust to get stuck in.

He will need to remember to wear gloves next time.

* * *

Sans wakes up slowly for once, consciousness creeping in gradually until he's fully aware of his surroundings.

He feels weird, warm and secure in a way that is not the norm. It takes him a few moments to realize it's because he is not lying in his bed, but rather on the old comfy sofa that occupies their living room.

His face is pressed into the cushions, and he wiggles a bit to try and get a better bearing of the situation, but finds himself unable.

Because he is trapped between the back of the seat and the body of his still sleeping brother.

The couch isn't exactly made for fitting two people like this, so Sans feels slightly mushed, but with some effort he manages to turn and face the other's sleeping form.

Papyrus is lying on his side, balancing precariously on the edge. His body has instinctively compensated by leaning forward, and Sans can feel their legs tangled together.

In the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the dim light of barely anything shining outside their living room window, he can see his brother's face strangely scrunched up, as if even in sleep he's angry at something.

Unbidden, Sans reaches forward. His fingers stop short of actually touching, the thought of what would happen if Papyrus woke up to find them in such a position making him hesitant to proceed.

Then again, it's not like their relationship can get any more fucked up than it already is.

Besides, Sans knows his younger brother is a heavy sleeper. He sometimes inwardly jokes that he could fire off a Blaster right next to that dingy old race car bed, and Papyrus wouldn't wake up.

The dubious part inside him is satisfied for once, and Sans proceeds to lightly touch his brother's face.

That fucking scar. He trails his phalanges down it, feeling the slightly sharp edges and uneven texture surrounding it.

He remembers what it felt like, the shock that he experienced when Papyrus came barreling through their front door in a flurry, clutching a hand to his face with dust seeping through his fingers.

Sans had been downright terrified. He had wanted to help, do anything, something, to elevate the pained expression on his brother's features.

But even back then, they hadn't been on the best of terms, so to speak, and the taller skeleton had simply shrugged him off with an agitated huff, locking himself inside his room for the remainder of the day.

Sans knows, because he had been sitting outside that door the entire time, trying desperately to calm down his racing thoughts.

He'd thought he was over the whole caring thing by then. He wasn't, he was worried to death instead.

And now, feeling the jagged texture beneath his fingertips, illuminated by the twilight outside their window, Sans wonders if that's what Papyrus felt those few days ago.

His brother frowns in his sleep, twitching, and the small skeleton jolts aware to the present, pulling back his hand.

But the younger brother doesn't wake, instead pitching forward slightly, robbing Sans of the small amount of personal space left.

Their chests are touching, and just like last time he becomes distinctly aware of the other's soul, like a physical warmth that somehow fills him entirely.

Papyrus mumbles something incoherently, subconsciously throwing an arm to lay around Sans's waist, the other appendage trapped between them at an awkward angle.

In this position, he doesn't really have a choice, besides burrowing his face into his brother's scarf, smelling the faint scent of ash still clinging to it from so long ago.

Papyrus never washes it, he realizes. He probably never takes it off.

Sans closes his eyes again and thinks about the smile from his dream.

* * *

The muted sunlight that shines through the cracked cavern ceiling is streaming into their living room, vivid and brightening up everything with a brilliant shine.

It slips between his closed eye sockets, making it hard for him to fall back asleep.

He wants to though. It's been too long since Papyrus has had a decent nights rest, so a few more minutes of undisturbed peace and quiet are long overdue.

But alas, The Great Papyrus does not function that way. Wasting daytime is not his style, that would rather be something up his brother's alley.

Speaking of Sans.

When the tall skeleton properly wakes up, mind jolting to the present almost instantly, he's immediately aware of not being alone. He almost flings the figure sleeping half on top of him straight across the room out of instinct.

But the ugly wallpaper and dull colored sofa he's residing upon tell him he's inside their home, and there is no way an intruder would dare trespass on their property.

So, by process of elimination, the person so liberally invading his personal space is Sans.

Papyrus takes a moment to consider how they got into this position. He remembers sitting down to watch Mettaton last night.

Evidently he had been more tired than he thought, and Sans could quite possibly fall asleep anywhere.

He tries to find it in himself to be irritated. To be bothered by their current situation.

But he can't.

Sans is clutching the red fabric of his scarf in a loose fist, face practically buried into his taller siblings neck. He's sleeping peacefully for once, features relaxed into a look of utter content.

It's been too long since Papyrus has seen that look on his brother's face.

Therefor he allows himself to indulge for once, not even bothering to remove his arm wrapped around the smaller body.

He turns his head and sees the clock on their wall, telling him it's well into the morning hours. He's going to be late for Undyne's training if he doesn't leave soon.

'1 more minute' he tells himself. '1 more minute and I'll get up.'

10 minutes later he nudges against Sans harshly, face recomposed to the angry scowl he usually wears.

"Sans... Sans! Wake up, you lazybones." He hisses, pushing against the other's ribcage in an effort to dislodge him.

His brother responds by clutching more tightly, mumbling softly. "Just 5 more minutes."

Papyrus sighs, starting to try and withdraw himself, but finding himself unable. Sans is lying on top of his other arm. "5 more seconds and you're not waking up at all."

Sans cracks his eyes open immediately, but there is an almost amused smile playing around his mouth. "Grumpy in the mornings, aren't we?"

With some effort, Papyrus does manage to pull back, at least freeing his arm and laying on his back, putting as much distance between them as possible with Sans still attached to him.

"Don't be an idiot..." As far as witty retorts go, it's not very adequate, but it will have to do.

Sans grins wider, but still seems to spot the agitation on his brother's face, letting go of the fabric between his fingers and sitting up, back making a cracking noise as he straightens it.

Papyrus pops his newly released arm back into it's socket proper, rotating it slowly to regain feeling in it.

"We shouldn't sleep on this blasted thing anymore." He comments, starting to walk to the kitchen, but changing his mind at the last moment, heading towards the door instead.

The captain isn't renown for her patience. He goes to put on his boots, mindful to not forget the reports she requested.

"I think it's pretty comfy." Sans mentions, laying back down and stretching onto the newly acquire space. Unlike his brother, he is actually small enough to fit on it perfectly when alone.

"I bet you would." Papyrus snorts, and Sans turns toward him with a sly look.

"Really, Boss? I'm not sure if I'm more surprised that you just made a joke, or disappointed that it was a jab at my height."

"I can be funny." The younger brother answers automatically. Because really, there's nothing The Great Papyrus is not great at. It's in the name, for fucks sake.

Sans has the audacity to actually laugh at him, so he makes sure to slam the door behind him extra hard.

* * *

Undyne is already outside when he arrives, but he's surprised to see she's not wearing her usual armor. She looks so much smaller like this, strangely vulnerable.

But Papyrus knows that looks can be deceiving. Besides, she still towers over him at least 4 inches.

"There you are, punk." She sounds high-strung, eyes darting around as if expecting a surprise attack any second.

And she should. Captain of the royal guard is a much coveted position, and can actually be won in combat.

But usually it's the second in combat who will challenge the current leader for their position, and that would be him.

Sometimes Papyrus wonders if that's why Undyne is so chummy with him. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and all that.

But she seems too direct to do that. He couldn't imagine the captain putting up with that kind of shit. If she really thought he would be a threat to her position in such a way, he probably wouldn't be walking around anymore.

She's right though. Papyrus has no such ambitious. He's happy where he is. For now, at least...

"Give them to me." She commands, already holding out her hands the moment she saw him entering the cave mouth.

Papyrus does so, watching with a confused expression as she rifles through the documents at high speed, apparently looking for something.

Her eye scans line after line of text, narrowing as they go. Whatever she's looking for either isn't there, or it is, and she's displeased with it.

Then, in a flurry, she tosses the entire thing over her shoulder, papers scattering all over the damp ground.

Papyrus is caught between being angry that all his hard work is going to waste or concerned for his commander's sanity.

He settles on a bit of both.

Undyne grabs his arm, the grip a lot less hostile than the previous day, and there is something disconcerting in her eye.

"You! Me! Cooking lesson! Now!"

As she starts dragging him over to her house, Papyrus knows something is seriously wrong.

Undyne usually only cooks with him when she's extremely stressed out, agitated, or perturbed.

All memories of an almost secluded morning bliss fade away instantly.

In their world, there are two general truths. It's kill or be killed.

And good things can never last.

* * *

 **Tumblr: iinoyb**


	7. Chapter 7

_Merrily, we fall,  
Out of line, out of line.  
I'd fall anywhere with you._

 _I'm by your side._

* * *

Undyne's house is pretty impressive, he has to admit. From the outside, it looks downright hostile, all jagged edges and spikes.

Papyrus wonders who even builds something like that? On the other hand, the walls are thicker than those of a regular dwelling, with a big iron door that can be bolted completely in case of emergency. Undyne certainly doesn't need to worry about anybody trying to murder her in her sleep.

"Come on." His captain beckons, digging through her fridge for the required ingredients. Fresh tomatoes, mushrooms and even some onions appear on her cupboard.

Papyrus wipes his boots before entering out of habit, slowly making his way towards her and pointedly avoiding an oddly colored tile situated around the middle of her living room.

Undyne has a terrible habit of booby trapping her own house.

She says it's less in case of an intruder, but actually meant to keep her on her toes at all times.

"If you don't get your sorry ass over here right now, I'll come and get it myself." Undyne yells at him, and Papyrus startles up from where he's still contemplating the tiles.

"Fucking hell." He mumbles, but makes sure to be next to her in a matter of seconds, just in case she's serious with the threat. "You have no chill."

"I don't need 'chill'." She complains, and Papyrus can practically hear the air quotes around the last word. "I need stress relief. And it's either this or going out to kill something."

A pot slams down on the counter hard enough to crack the surface.

"So...?" Papyrus ventures, leaving the unasked question lingering in the air.

"So I'm doing this." Undyne slams her fist down on the nearest vegetable, the now squashed tomato splattering red all over her. "Because apparently, killing just of for the heck of it is 'bad conduct'."

This time, Papyrus doesn't have to imagine the air quotes, because Undyne actually does them with her fingers, rolling her eye in the process.

She continues merrily destroying vegetables as she goes, as Papyrus just stands there watching awkwardly. It are moments like these that he always wonders if his relationship with Undyne could be described as... friends?

Surely, it goes beyond any normal superior and subordinate affinity. But do monsters even do 'friendships'? He's not certain.

"Hey, get your fucking head out of your arse if you want to get in on this." Undyne comments, grin growing even more manic as she crushes her opponents. Or in this case, her ingredients.

Papyrus blinks, then shakes his head. "You need it more than me." He says, instead calling upon his magic to summon a sharp-edged bone and starting to scrape the smushed vegetables into the pot. "You're a fucking mess."

Undyne laughs mirthlessly, eye vacant for the tiniest of moments. " _I'm_ a mess? Pfff, yeah right!"

She has produced a bunch of uncooked noodles out of seemingly nowhere and starts violently breaking the hard sticks into tiny pieces, throwing them into the pot he's still holding as she goes.

"This is nothing, Paps. Nothing." She says. "I'll be ok. You'll be ok. It's not us that's the problem, you know."

He doesn't know, grimacing at her more than a little unhelpful attitude. "What problem?"

Papyrus hasn't noticed the way she has been avoiding eye contact, until she finally catches his gaze, and he sees the edge of desperation pooling in their depths.

It's one of the most unsettling things he has ever seen.

"Cooking first. Then we'll talk."

* * *

What a wonderful day it would be, if Sans could get away with skipping work AND spending all his free time lounging on their living room sofa.

Alas, even with the rare, compliant mood his brother has been operating under the last few days, he knows it wouldn't do.

The Great Papyrus has really high standards, after all.

So if Sans doesn't want to have a domestic run-in, he has to do at least something to keep his sibling content.

After all, wasn't it so much nicer to just be civil to each other for a change?

Sans certainly thought so.

And if forcing himself to abandon their highly comfortable, if slightly bumpy, sofa and instead do something productive for once in his life, it's a sacrifice he is willing to make.

After Papyrus leaves, he burrows into the softness of the cushions, feeling the warmth where his brother just was.

It's oddly mesmerizing, how much heat a skeleton can produce.

But after a few minutes, Sans wearily forces himself to get up, knowing that if he indulges any longer, he will certainly fall back asleep.

Instead, he wanders his way into the kitchen, bare feet slapping softly against the cold tile floor. He curls his toes against it, quickly using his magic to pull the slippers he left abandoned somewhere near the sofa towards him.

The fridge is disappointingly empty, besides some containers of lasagna and an empty packet of chips.

He almost gets excited upon discovering a small bag at the back which looks like it might contain leftovers from a take-out meal he got at Grillby's a while ago.

But whatever it had been has been reduced to a full-fledged biological hazard after spending so much time in their unreliable fridge.

Sans disposes of it, cursing under his breath. Even digging through the pockets of his hoodie has him turning out empty handed. Not one stray mustard packet in sight.

He'll have to settle for a cup of coffee then, again not lucky enough to find sugar or milk in their kitchen.

He discovers the reason easily enough. There's a shopping list on the cupboard, hastily scrawled in his brother's less than neat handwriting. Evidently, with all the going-ons of the last few days, Papyrus had forgotten all about it.

Sans scans the list's content quickly, before pocketing it deliberately.

He's going to try and be more pro-active, right? Getting the groceries should be a good start.

He draws up his hood before leaving, at least somewhat covering up his newly gained cracks.

While the wound has definitely stopped hurting, Sans thinks it will just draw more unwanted attention to himself. It might be a better idea to cover it up for the time being, at least while outside.

There is a slight draft today, meaning there must be a full on gale on the surface. Sans looks up, but the ceiling is too high up for him to actually tell where the wind is coming from.

Somewhere up there, there must be a window to the outside world. A crack in the earth's crust.

While walking, he wonders if anybody has ever tried to reach it. Not that there would be any use to it, the barrier would stop any escape attempt anyway.

Despite the breeze, the streets of Snowdin aren't empty today. There's no snowfall, the ice underfoot has been trodden down to a comfortable, if somewhat slippery, surface.

All in all, a pleasant day.

But upon reaching the store, Sans can sense an oppressive mood among the few people milling around in front of it.

A few of the monsters turn upon his arrival, and regard him with a look that is almost hostile. It makes him falter for a second, but he pushes on, pulling the hood forward even more out of instinct.

Opening the door, he is immediately assaulted by the a myriad of different smells, not all of them entirely pleasant. The only light source is bright and orange, something which always irritates Sans to no end and makes him scrunch up his eye sockets.

Right, this is why he usually leaves the shopping to Papyrus.

"Look, miss. It sucks for your brats, but that's not my problem." The shopkeeper is saying, crossing her arms in front of her.

A mouse-type monster Sans vaguely recalls seeing around town responds in a high, squeaky tone.

"B-But... How are we going to-?"

"Not. My. Problem." The shopkeeper repeats, putting extra emphasis on every word, but her tone softens when she continues. "I'm sorry, I really am. But there's nothing I can do right now."

The mouse monster nods, trembling in what Sans can only guess are barely suppressed sobs. She turns and leaves, not even lifting her head from where she's staring at her feet, defeated.

Sans watches her go, growing unease building in his gut. The bunny behind the counter breaks out her customer-satisfying grin for him, but it lacks it's usual gusto.

"Damn, you look like shit." He comments, the weary lines under her eyes not concealed at all by her lackluster attempt at a smile.

"Thanks. Right back at ya." The lady answers, grin a bit more sincere now. Sans likes her, she doesn't do nonsense.

"How about you do your fucking job and get me some-" He starts, fishing in a pocket for the crumpled up piece of paper.

But she doesn't even let him finish the sentence. "I'm out."

"I haven't even told you what I wanted yet." his hand finds the list, flattening it out on the counter between them.

"And I'm telling you I'm out. I don't have anything for sale anymore."

Sans looks her straight in the eyes, totally incredulous by now. Then his gaze flick beyond her shoulder. "And those are just for display purposes I take it."

The bunny turns her head. While the racks behind her are undoubtedly emptier than they should be, there is still a decent amount of items on display.

"As a matter of fact, they are." she shrugs her shoulders, beaded necklace making faint noises as she does so. "Or, you know. For me and mine, in a pinch."

"Right..." Sans curls his hands into his pockets, frowning. The shopkeeper mistakes his expression for one of desperation, because she quickly leans forward over her counter.

Her next statement is done in a whisper, despite the fact that she and Sans are alone in the store.

"Though, I guess I can cut you a deal." Her eyes are basically sparkling with mischief, but Sans decides to take the beat, tilting his head.

"What kind of deal...?"

"That depends." The woman lilts. "What kind of money do you have?"

Sans scoffs at her lame attempt to negotiate, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Safe it, Lady. I'll go spend it elsewhere." And he would.

Sans knows all about the black market business to be done in Waterfall.

Still, the situation worries him. If the stores are having problems providing, it's most likely connected to the supply lines, and they are controlled by monsters higher up the proverbial (and literal) food chain.

Monsters can last without food, at least for a little while, even if it's vital for generating magic in the long run. But hunger will make them antsy. More prone to violence and stupidity.

"Relax..." She says, pulling him out of his troubled thoughts. "I was just joking... mostly."

She makes a dismissive hand gesture, winking in a way that seems genuinely friendly for a change.

"There will be new supplies coming later today. The captain promised me..."

Sans nods, but refrains from feeling relief just yet. He has the sickening feeling things won't be that easy.

* * *

"This looks ok, right?" Undyne asks dubiously.

There is pitch-black smoke rising out of the pot, hanging heavy against the ceiling and filling the entire house with a foul-smelling odor.

Papyrus looks into the disaster, one mass of churning crap. "Sure, it look fine."

But Undyne curses, throwing the entire thing through her window with a defeated sigh. "Don't be a fucking suck-up. This is bullshit."

They are silent until the sound of shattering glass settles, the captain tapping her hands on the table lightly.

Papyrus stays silent. He admits their combined cooking attempts sometimes turn out... less than savory results. But this was a total catastrophe.

Undyne is acting highly agitated, and he finds himself dimly grateful they didn't train after all.

'Accidental death by overzealous commander' wouldn't look very good on his memorial.

"Look." The captain suddenly pipes up, and Papyrus immediately turns towards her, hoping she will finally get to the heart of the matter. "I'm going to level with you..."

He gives a tight nod when she doesn't immediately continue, prompting her to go on.

"Things are... not going very well up there." Undyne sinks into her chair, gripping the tabletop until her fingers turn pale.

"The surface?" He blurts automatically, but knows he's wrong before the sound has died out.

"Not the fucking surface, bonehead." Undyne rolls her eyes. "I'm talking chain of command here."

There is a breeze coming in through the window, sharp cold signaling it's origin as Snowdin. Papyrus wonders what Sans is doing right now.

"Things aren't going exactly spiffy. New Home is dealing with some overpopulation issues right now, resources aren't coming in as fluidly as they should be..." Undyne trails of as she digs her nails into the table harder. "It's just not good."

Papyrus finally sits down too, feeling the oppressive mood in the air. He can't remember ever seeing his captain... worried, before.

"What about the king?" He asks, watching her face scrunch up in annoyance.

"You know him. The old bastard tries to keep a straight face, but I know it bothers him. His own people dying right underneath his nose." She kept her eyes trained on her own hands the entire conversation, but now raises them to meet his.

"We need to get out, Paps." She says, and the smile playing around her lips is slightly deranged, revealing sharp yellow incisors.

The skeleton is taken aback, gloved hands coming up to brush off some invisible dust on the tabletop, just to occupy them.

"I know." He says.

But his commander laughs at him, shaking her head, blood-red hair tossing carelessly.

"You know fuck-all! Things are going to get worse. We need that last human soul NOW. We needed it yesterday."

Her eyes dart around her house, as if there could be some hidden threat beyond every corner. Then she bends forward, voice low in an almost whisper.

"Look, I'm only telling you this because I know you can keep your fucking mouth shut. Alphys has been... working on something. It was meant as some kind of last resort, but- It's not working out."

"Wait, what?" He interrupts, because what the hell is she going on about now?

"I don't know the details, I'm not a fucking scientist, ok? I just know that maybe, possibly, you should be prepared to... you know... cut your losses and get out."

Papyrus just sits there, mouth slightly agape, not knowing how to respond. Maybe he would, if he had any idea what Undyne was actually going on about, but right now he is just confused.

"I don't-" He begins, but trails of into silence instead.

The captain hunches her shoulders, and when she talks again, there is actually a trace of compassion in her voice that Papyrus is unaccustomed to hearing from anyone.

"All I'm saying is... this might not be the best time to start forming-" Her eyes dart around again, as if the words she's looking for are hanging in the air between them. "Emotional dependencies."

And suddenly it hits him.

"This is about Sans again, isn't it." Papyrus asks, voice getting slightly louder than it has to.

"He's going to end up being a liability, Paps. I've been talking about it with-"

The skeleton gets up angrily, chair legs screeching over the tiles with an unpleasant sound. "That's none of your fucking business! I'm handling it!"

"Are you? Because shit is going to hit the fan and all I can see is you developing a serious Achilles heel, without even realizing it yourself."

"I. Am. Handling. It." He sneers, but even with the clipped way he's speaking, he sounds a lot less certain than he wants to.

Because maybe he doesn't like to see his brother so downtrodden all the time. Maybe he doesn't dislike the jokes quite as much as he tells himself.

Maybe he doesn't want Sans to die.

That doesn't mean he's allowing his brother to become a soft spot. The Great Papyrus doesn't do weaknesses.

Undyne stares at him, the tension draining from her body as she shrugs her shoulders.

"Alright, whatever..." She concedes after a second, and Papyrus can't read the expression on her face anymore. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

* * *

In the end, Sans does get the food they need to fill their fridge again, just from less savory channels than his brother usually prefers.

Beggars can't be choosers, as they say, and for the small skeleton himself it was actually not too bad to be out and about again.

His morose disposition had made it hard for him to go out anymore, the amount of strange faces at the Waterfall dumps had been palpable proof of how long he had been preoccupied with his own misery, but it felt good to be back.

Some people he knew from long ago, before even coming to Snowdin, and they all greeted him jovially enough, even inquiring if he was coming back to sell hotdogs again anytime soon.

Sans grinned at them, promising he would look into it, but secretly thinking they wouldn't be so excited if they knew what was actually in the sausages.

Back home, he dumps the groceries out on the table, telling himself he will put them away later.

First, he deserves a nap.

The sound of the door opening wakes him a few hours later, cracking his eyes to watch his brother stroll in.

Papyrus goes right past him into their kitchen, not bothering to take his boots off or acknowledging Sans in any way.

He comes back a second later, frowning at Sans, who sits up on the couch.

"You did the groceries." Papyrus says, and it's more a statement of disbelieve than an actual question.

"I don't fancy starving to death, Boss." Sans jokes, but when his brother's face stays impassive, he nods. "I did the groceries."

"Good."

Sans realizes that's as much thanks as he's going to get, because his brother quickly returns to the kitchen and he can hear the sound of cupboards slamming.

He gets up from the couch, watching his brother putting away the groceries as he stands in the doorway.

"It was kind of a hassle to get them though." The older brother ventures discreetly, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible. "Something about unstable supply lines...?"

His brother hums the affirmative, frowning hard at the packs of noodles Sans got for them. He didn't know which ones Papyrus usually bought, so he got the cheapest kind.

"Is that going to be a problem or something?" Sans presses, hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically inside the pockets of his hoodie.

Papyrus doesn't answer immediately, still staring at the pasta in his hand, but not really seeing it at all. Then he looks at Sans unexpectedly.

"Not for us." He says, voice firm, not leaving any room for dispute.

Sans is happy the taller skeleton turns away right after saying it too, because he can feel his face get strangely warm at the use of that word.

Plural, huh?

He can get used to that.

"Ugh! You can put these away yourself. These are fucking disgusting." Papyrus is saying, pulling out the few handfuls of mustard packets at the bottom of the bag and throwing them on the table carelessly.

"Hey, be careful." Sans starts shoving them into the pockets of his hoodie, ignoring his brother's almost horrified expression. "I _mustard_ up a lot of gold to get these."

Papyrus stares at him, and he stares back, neither speaking nor moving for a moment.

Then, his brother groans, slamming a hand against his head in exasperation. "That's fucking terrible, Sans."

Papyrus turns to occupy himself with the fridge again, but not before Sans catches a glimpse of a tiny smirk on the other's face.

He can get used to that too.

* * *

 **Wow, this chapter was long. Hope you enjoyed it. Shout-out to Nicciwolf for leaving reviews, you're the best!**


	8. Chapter 8

_Don't tear me down, for all I need.  
Make my heart a better place.  
Give me something I can believe._

* * *

"You should come with me on patrol." Papyrus says, hands fiddling with the clasps on his booth.

Sans turns his head, watching him from the corner of his eye, and for a moment, the taller skeleton is sure his brother will refuse the request.

"Sure, boss." He says instead, and Papyrus raises a brow at the nickname still.

It had started as an almost mocking remark, after he had risen so fluidly in the ranks of the royal guard, while his unambitious older brother was more than content with an unassuming sentry position. This technically made Papyrus his direct superior.

But Sans has a horrible tendency of not calling people by their full names, the title had stuck. Papyrus had always felt like there was an edge of jest to it.

Of course, back then it was better than 'bro' (a horrible reminder for the younger skeleton that yes, he is related to such a weak being).

Except that now, it sounded more sincere. Like Sans really looked up to him for instructions or charge.

"Why, though?"

Ah yes, there was the Sans he knew. Papyrus rolls his eyes slightly, straightening out again, and noticing with secret pleasure that his brother is standing at the door even while asking.

The question was more a matter of principle, it seems.

"Because I say so." He clicks his jaw, a habit he developed recently whenever he has to keep himself from saying what he truly means.

Because saying 'I want to spend time together' sounds gag-worthily sappy and 'I want to keep an eye on you' sounds a tad creepy.

He hopes Sans doesn't notice.

Apparently he doesn't, or maybe he does and he's just acting oblivious, because the smaller skeleton pulls the door open and makes a tiny hand gesture.

"After you, sir." He grins, and this time Papyrus knows he _is_ being derogatory.

He makes his way over, but doesn't actually pass through the door, making Sans throw him a confused look.

When it sinks in why his brother is just standing there, Sans laughs under his breath, leading the way down the few steps at the front of their home.

The Great Papyrus is too smart to show his back to anybody.

* * *

The snow is deep enough to reach Sans' ankles, spilling over the edges of his sneakers and soaking the socks he's wearing. Luckily skeletons can't feel the cold.

He watches as Papyrus locks the door tightly behind them, a worthless gesture as far as the small skeleton is concerned.

If somebody really wanted to nab their stuff, they'd break a window. Or if it was a personal vendetta, burn the entire house to the ground.

Then again, this hypothetical person would probably try to do that while they were sleeping. Kill two birds with one stone.

Or in this case, two skeletons with one fire.

Sans grins hard at his own joke, making a mental note to go by the door in the forest again soon so he can actually tell it to somebody. The crazy lady is probably wondering what happened to him, anyway. Last time they talked, he was having a slight existential crisis.

"What are you grinning at now?"

An automatic denial almost slips past his none-existent lips. Answering 'nothing' whenever his brother questions his motives is a defensive habit he gained over time.

But it gets stuck in his throat, remembering the almost grudging grin he had pulled out of the tall skeleton earlier. Maybe...

"I'm just admiring the Great Papyrus' amazing anti-intruder system... a locked door." The sarcasm that seeps into his voice is easy. Meant to give an edge to the joke, but not come across as a slight to his brother's efforts.

Papyrus doesn't crack a smile... but he doesn't get mad either.

He stares at the door for a second, turns to Sans with an odd expression.

"What would you suggest, then?"

Sans rocks back and forth on the heels of his sneakers, nervously, still not used to Papyrus looking at him like that.

Not scornful. Not hateful. Not like Sans is just garbage under his shoes.

But like he seriously wants to know his brother's thoughts.

"Geeze, Boss, I don't fucking know." He mumbles, unaccustomed to getting to voice his opinion. "It's not like anybody can't crash through the windows if they really wanted."

His younger brother had done that very thing himself, once or twice, on rare occasions. Sans decides not to mention those occurrences.

Papyrus looks at the house again, now standing next to the small skeleton. "I'm not boarding up the windows." He says, frowning hard.

"Yeah, I didn't think I'd get you to be on _board_ with that, anyway." Sans saw the opportunity and seized it.

But Papyrus doesn't seem to hear him, slightly cocking his head as he observes their abode, then turning to start of in the direction of the forest, leaving Sans to hurry after him in an effort to catch up to his brother's much longer strides.

"I'll talk with the captain about it." The tall skeleton says.

His pace and the wind coincide, causing his overly large scarf to billow behind him, and Sans can't help but think his bro looks pretty cool like that.

He pushes the thought away.

"What's the fuzz anyway?" He questions, giving up his efforts to catch up to the younger skeleton, opting to walk slightly behind him instead.

It allows him to walk in the path his brother is carving through the snow, making it easier on him to struggle through the snowdrifts.

And anything that enables him to minimize his efforts is a good thing in Sans's books.

"It's not like anybody is actually going to be stupid enough to try something." He huffs as an afterthought.

All jokes aside, Papyrus and himself don't need to fear a break in happening. Sans is fairly certain his brother would easily destroy anybody that tried.

Monsters are extremely territorial. They defend their possessions to death, if need be. Especially in their world, where people are always looking to take what they can, even if it does not rightly belong to them.

"Of course not! Nobody would dare to cross The Great and Terrible Papyrus!" His brother says, nyeh-ing a bit for extra effect, but it almost sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

An empty boast.

Sans grins hard at his back, knowing his brother can't see it anyway. "Except if they got _really_ desperate."

He isn't even sure why he says it. Maybe the tense atmosphere in the shop is still on his mind. The slightly over-crowded nature of the black market. The higher than usual prices.

Sans isn't an idiot.

Papyrus doesn't answer, stopping and staring at the ground. Sans thinks that maybe they've reached one of the puzzles he's planning to calibrate, but the snow is suspiciously devoid of traps.

"What _would_ happen?" His brother's voice is low, quieter than his usual attention-commanding tone.

Sans stops too, still slightly behind the other. He can't see his brother's facial expression like this, but has a distinct feeling that's what Papyrus was aiming at anyway.

"What would happen when?" Sans doesn't need to ask to know what the younger skeleton is talking about, but he craves this.

This normal type of conversation. This barely concealed civilness.

Every word Papyrus speaks to him that is not an insult or disparaging remark makes him crave more.

"When they do get real desperate, Sans?" The casual use of his name is like a drug, the tone oddly reminiscent of the days before.

Days when they were still brothers.

"When they get real desperate..." Sans draws out the silence, feeling like he needs to give a proper answer. He has always been the better character judge.

Papyrus _needs_ his advice. And Sans wants to please his boss.

"They will become more reckless, risking their life to get what they want. Maybe even against better judgement. It will narrow down to survival of the fittest for real. Kill or be killed."

Because their world has not yet reached it's epitome of cruelty.

But it could. It could all fall apart in a heartbeat.

And what a breathtaking collapse it would be.

The thoughts are dark and bleak, return his mind to that pitiful state of apathy he has been trying to shake the past few days. Like putting a glass over a candle, depriving it of oxygen and killing the flame of hope.

Choking.

"Don't worry, boss." He says, and the nickname is back to tasting bitter in his mouth."You'll be more than fine. It's the weak ones that don't last."

'Like me...' He doesn't say. The subtext is more than clear. He brushes against the crack in his skull, sharp pain to remind himself he's not dead yet.

"Don't say things like that!" Papyrus snaps, resorting to being angry again. He turns around, eyes dangerously sharp. "It's not funny."

"And I'm not joking." Sans bites back, cold on the inside, yet somehow feeling ready to burst.

Why must everything always come back to this? The empty feeling of bitterness that has filled his chest cavity for ages now, slowly growing and consuming.

Normally, Sans would try and shrug it of. Harbor it inside, while keeping an impassive face for the outside world.

Now it shows clearly on him. Papyrus takes a step towards him, but slowly. As if Sans could bolt any second now.

Not that there'd be anywhere to run.

"Is it really that bad living?" his younger brother asks, and Sans has to actually think before answering.

"I'm not living. I'm just killing time."

Papyrus frowns harder, steps closer still. His arms hang limply by his side, as if he doesn't know what to do with them anymore.

They're within arms reach but neither move.

"Do you want to die?" The tall skeleton's voice is low again.

It takes Sans longer than he would like to respond, trying to organize his own thoughts, and staring at the snow at his feet.

Maybe if this question had been asked a few days ago, he would have said yes. He had been tired, spent. There had been no reason for him to get up in the mornings. No reason for anything.

And now?

There might still not be a reason. There might never be.

But at least it didn't feel as unbearable anymore just to exist.

"No." He says, still staring at the snow beneath his sneakers, and the relieve in the air around them is almost palpable.

"Good." Papyrus says, with a little smirk. "Because I won't let you."

"W-what?" Sans falters, caught of guard by the sudden shift of mood.

"I'm not going to let you die, you ass. I won't permit it." There is a gloved hand on his skull, right beside the crack, but ever so careful not to touch. He doesn't dare to raise his gaze.

"So if the worse does happen, don't do anything stupid, understood?"

Touch and tone combined end up forming a gesture that is oddly protective in nature. _Possessive._

"Whatever you say, boss." He mumbles, feeling like the heat in his soul could easily melt the snow around them.

Papyrus leaves him then, the quiet bonding moment over almost as suddenly as it occurred. If Sans didn't know any better, he'd thought it never happened at all.

"You neither." He says quickly, loath to miss the opportunity. Papyrus looks at him over his shoulder, and he suddenly feels very sheepish, covering it up with a smirk of his own.

"Doing something stupid." He clarifies. "I don't want you to die, either."

The tall skeleton scoffs at him. "The Great Papyrus never does anything stupid."

The fact that he's currently trying to slough through at least a foot of snow, kind of undermines the statement, but Sans doesn't mention it.

Even if the world around them starts to fall apart. Even if the air grows thinner and the fire gutters out.

Maybe they can be each other's oxygen.

* * *

 **Tumblr: iinoyb**


	9. Chapter 9

_All we need is a little bit of momentum,_  
 _Break down these walls that we've built around ourselves._  
 _All we need is a little bit of inertia_ ,  
 _Break down and tell_.

* * *

It takes a while before either brother says another word.

Silence reigns between them as Papyrus slowly makes his way from each puzzle to the next, checking the trap mechanisms as he goes and ridding them of any excess snow or stray branches.

Sans is content to trail behind, grateful for his brother's slower than usual pace and even admiring some of his devices.

Say what you will about Papyrus. That he's boastful, immature, vain,... But seeing the things he gets up to in Snowdin forest one has to admit the tall skeleton is in the possession of a certain sly cunning.

Sans stops at a more recent addition, an electricity maze that fills the air with and odd buzzing sound. The mere fact that his brother has somehow been able to make _this_ , from the rather meager supplies at his disposal, is actually admirable.

"Sans, would you stop looking like a fucking idiot and hurry up?" Papyrus' voice breaks through his thoughts, and the small skeleton can't help but smirk.

"Sorry, boss. Just taking a look at this a- _maze_ -ing puzzle you devised." He says, relishing the gruff sound of irritation his brother makes, even as the corners of his mouth pulled up at the compliment.

Even if it was the second time it happened in just a few days, Sans feels the little thrill in his soul return. He will never get tired of Papyrus smiling at his terrible jokes.

The tall skeleton crosses his arms, gazing ahead of them as if he doesn't want his older sibling to see his face. He is still standing there, not moving ahead despite his empty complains.

Papyrus is waiting for him.

The realization only makes the thrilling feeling worse, and Sans opens his mouth to say something else, when his brother suddenly tenses, entire frame going rigid.

With his face still turned away, Sans is unable to see his expression, but the sudden agitation in the air is unmistakable.

It feels like the temperature has instantly dropped below the freezing point without warning, the desolate forest around them at once looking a whole lot more menacing.

Papyrus is beside him in seconds, the distance between them bridged in a heartbeat. At another time, Sans might register this, but right now his mind is too busy racing to comprehend the abrupt change in atmosphere.

"Sneaking up never did work on you, did it?" A gruff voice asks, tinged with irritation and amusement.

The crack in his head aches almost subconsciously, eyes narrowing at the dog monsters who have just arrived in the clearing.

Hostile magic hangs heavy in the air, a tension that is almost palpable and could be broken by just the slightest wrong move.

Something that smells like danger and accidents waiting to happen.

* * *

"Oh, it's just you." Papyrus forces his body to relax, arms still crossed in front of him, but in an annoyed rather than defensive manner.

Instinctively he shifts, putting himself between the two newcomers and Sans, almost completely hiding the smaller skeleton from view.

Dogaressa and Dogamy only smirk, observing the scene before them with a look of sadistic pleasure. Papyrus doesn't need to be a genius to know they are looking for trouble.

But if they want to get their asses handed to them, he'll be happy to serve.

"Didn't I tell you not to show your ugly mugs around here anymore?" He asks gruffly, skull tilting upward to look at the two opposing monsters snidely.

Dogamy growls at that, taking another step forward. They are ever so easy to anger.

"What's wrong? Pissed that we disturbed your little lover's stroll?" Dogaressa suddenly pipes up, and Papyrus can feel Sans shift behind him more, but keeps his eyes trained on the royal guards in front of him.

"Fuck off!" He snarls instead, magic rising in the air, bright red illuminating his none-broken eye socket.

He doesn't want to fight them, he really doesn't. The shit storm it might cause in hindsight is enormous, and if Undyne's words are anything to go by, this isn't particularly the right time for this kind of altercation.

Sans's words come back to him then... 'if they got really desperate'.

What has Undyne told the dog couple? They were always closer to the captain than the other guards have been, a constant threat to Papyrus's own position as second in command.

But he never really thought of this as relevant before now.

Dogamy leers, gruff laughter bubbling in his throat. "That wasn't a denial, was it?"

"The Great Papyrus sees no need to answer to the likes of you." It is almost a joke, bravado he doesn't really feel right now clouding his voice.

But the guards bark, angry. "Is that so? I think you've got plenty to answer for, you ass." Dogaressa flips back the hood of her dark cloak in an easy movement and steps forward, finally moving into the light. "Or maybe we'll just have some good old payback."

Two things immediately register in Papyrus's mind then.

The dogs look a mess. Their faces littered with pale, angry scars. He had really gotten them worse than he thought, even if the attack was uncoordinated and hastily put together, mind more occupied with timing than aim when he launched it.

Secondly, and infinitely more disturbing, is the dust covering their shapes. On their faces, their hands, their weapons.

Without a doubt, something that had been alive this morning, isn't anymore.

And while the well-being of others isn't something that often crossed the skeletons mind, much more concerned with himself, and in more recent ventures his brother, it occurs as something significant now.

If he felt he had the room to spare the attention, Papyrus might be inclined to check their LV.

As it is, he will content with the familiarity of the thrill caused by gaining such heartlessness and the want it leaves for more.

On the whole, this isn't the type of situation the second in command would relish being in.

The odds are certainly against them too, two against one, as Sans is nothing to be considered in a fight.

Papyrus will have to solve this the hard way.

* * *

The shift isn't perceptible at all.

One moment, they are standing across form each other, nothing but snow and tension between them.

The next, it's like a wire has just snapped.

Sans blinks, magic shifting as the air comes alive around him.

His fight or flight instinct fails him miserably now, body refusing to move an inch. Papyrus has summoned something and sends it flying, there is a flurry of movement and the next thing he knows, Sans is on his back in the snow.

The realization that his brother pushed him out of the way comes almost instantly, as well as the thought that moving might be a good idea right now.

He has barely made it into a seated position before Dogamy is in front of him, all snarls and razor sharp teeth.

Instinctively, Sans throws his right arm to the side, and the unfortunate canine goes flying, hitting a nearby tree trunk with a dull sound.

There is a whine to his left and Sans looks over just in time to watch Papyrus jam a sharp-edged bone straight into Dogaressa's eye socket, dust pouring out of the wound in seconds.

Still, her teeth do not dislodge from where they're buried into the tall skeleton's left ulna.

Their eyes meet and Sans can feel the gears in his head come to a screeching halt.

There is a look on his brother's face which he has never seen before, and it makes his soul simultaneously combust into giddy joy and turn absolutely frigid.

Then, something hits him and he's face down again, trying not to inhale the mouth full of snow he just acquired.

There is weight bearing down on his back and an unpleasant pressure against his spine, something sharp pushing against the edge of his skull as pain shoots through him, the crack widening minutely.

He makes a sound, unable to move beneath the dog monster pinning him down, as Dogamy's hand forces his already damaged skull harder into the unforgiving ground.

There is a small noise, like the splintering of wood, and it hurts even more now, blinding.

Just when Sans think it will break, the weight is gone. Papyrus is pulling him up and snarling something into his ear hole that gets lost beneath a layer of panic.

His ulna looks broken, shattered maybe, but Dogaressa is lying motionless in the background and Dogamy is whining pitifully, covering his face, and the tall skeleton has the audacity to grin.

It takes Sans a moment to realize his younger brother is repeating his name over and over again, something like irritation slipping into his voice, so he grabs him by the shoulders roughly and tries to concentrate through the unbearable stinging in his skull.

There is only cold and noises and magic and then there is nothing.

They are sitting in the middle of their living room, suddenly surrounded by a deathly quiet and Papyrus is looking about as confused as Sans felt the first time he did this.

"We uh... we need to stop doing this." He says, gesturing at his brother's ruined arm and his own skull and really they're a fucking mess right now.

The excitement in their souls is dying down and all Sans can see is that look, the worry and the protectiveness, and he feels as if he'll break down any second.

Papyrus opens his mouth, presumably to demand answers, but Sans doesn't give him the chance.

He is pressing against his brother, pushing him into the couch, and their souls are close enough to feel each other's rhythm, beating way too fast for comfort.

Their teeth bump against each other awkwardly, something in the back of Sans's mind reminding him that neither has probably ever done this before.

But there is not much experience needed.

His hands are grasping Papyrus's shoulder again, the material rough against his palms, and he doesn't know what to expect.

He is waiting to be pushed away. To be snarled at and rebuked and hated and despised. To be broken.

Instead, he feels something against his spine and Papyrus is pushing back, holding him as their left-over magic, high strung from the earlier fight, mingles automatically.

Skeletons can't kiss, because they don't have lips, but somehow they make due, pressed so close together their bones chafe against each other, a not entirely unpleasant feeling that send chills down their spines.

Their souls beat and it's as if he can feel Papyrus as acutely as he can feel his own being.

It is in that moment, that Sans realizes what they're doing.

His eyes snap open, not even aware that he closed them in the first place, and Papyrus is so close, so close it might just take his non-existent breath away.

He forces himself out of his brothers grip, slackened by surprise, and his face is as red as a tomato right now.

They stare at each other for barely a second and then Sans darts, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He's half-way up the stairs before he hears his brother call after him, but even then he doesn't stop until he has slammed the door closed behind him, locking it tight.

He half expects to have Papyrus banging for him to open up in seconds, but there is no movement, no sound.

Just dead silence bearing down on what they have just done.

* * *

He fucked up. He fucked up so fucking bad.

Panic is a despicable thing, and it pushes down on Papyrus, on everything. His arm hurts so much it's all he can feel yet somehow what just happened hurts even more.

The rejection.

He feels like banging his head against the wall right now.

But the room is quiet and cold and Papyrus probably fucked up the only good thing he had left in his life, so there's nothing to do but wait.


	10. Chapter 10

_Oh, let our love survive.  
Or dry the tears from your eyes.  
Let's don't let a good thing die._

* * *

The room grows darker around him, but Papyrus can't move. Shellshocked into immobility.

The ground feels solid against his pelvis and he's sure that it's the only thing still teetering him to reality.

His mind is reeling.

He kissed his brother. Not just an innocent peck on the check, thought even that would have been a lot for the two of them. But full-on tongue-involved making out. The kind of kissing that makes other people cringe just by having to look at it.

They had kissed and then they had realized they were kissing and then Sans had run to his room, slammed the door and not come out since.

And the scary thing is, Papyrus has no idea what that means. Nothing good, probably.

He gets up, his legs feel weird, shaky, like they're unable to support his weight. He starts walking anyway, basically functioning on autopilot, not even noticing he has gone al the way to waterfall until the air warms up around him and he becomes aware of the constant trickling sound of the underground streams.

This is a bad idea. A Horrible idea. Capital H.

But when push comes to shove Papyrus knows he has no other friends, never allowed himself other friends and she is the only one he can turn to.

The only one who has even the slightest chance of understanding him.

He knocks quietly at first, then harder as he realizes she's probably sleeping until he is pounding on Undyne's door like a madman, desperate for an answer.

Undyne, face contorted in anger at his ruckus this late at night, finally opens up and Papyrus doesn't allow her the time to start screaming at him.

"I did something really stupid." he says, and her expression changes instantly at the tone of his voice.

"Come in then, loser."

* * *

When Sans wakes up the house is silent. According to his alarm clock and basic assumptions it's the middle of the night and he's overwhelmed by the usual disorientation you feel when you seriously fuck up your day-night rhythm.

He's cocooned tight within his blankets, comfortable and closed off from the world and as his consciousness gradually returns to him fully, he realizes why he went to bed at such an odd hour in the first place.

Motherfucker.

He turns over, peels one of the covers off and yeah, this could pose to be a problem.

Papyrus isn't home anymore. Sans isn't sure how he knows exactly, but he does. Like something lacks in the air around him.

He doesn't like it.

It's the same thing he felt back in the kitchen a while ago. Something increasingly worrying.

About as worrying as the fact that Sans kissed Papyrus. Or Papyrus kissed him, he isn't sure. It's all a bit hazy in his head.

Point is, they exchanged saliva and Sans didn't _not_ like it. He kind of _did_ like it.

Or loves it.

Or loves Papyrus.

Sans can't even process if that's the right word for it, but it must be. All he knows is that he wants Papyrus to slam him against the wall and fuck him senseless.

And maybe afterwards Sans could return the favor by teaching Papyrus what making love is all about. And fill his little brother to the brim with his-

Jup, it's bad.

Not only are these definitely not the kind of feelings he should be having at any point towards anyone. Sans is very much having them right now, towards his brother of all people.

Which only adds another layer of shame to how fucking wrong this entire situation already is.

He rolls over again, onto his side and sure enough, the thoughts have him already hard and aching. Sans sighs, grabs his pillow from on top of the sheets and since he's alone he might as well take care of it right?

He moves his hips slowly at first, trying to savor the moment, but it just doesn't feel like enough anymore without his brother right there next to him.

Cold and empty.

So he goes faster, using sharp quick movements to hump the softness against his crotch and if he closes his eyes maybe he can imagine it's Papyrus' body pressed against him.

Dicks rubbing together, arms intertwined and Sans wouldn't stop kissing him ever if he could. He would just love to have Papyrus pinned down beneath him and really show him how he feels.

He comes quickly with a small grunt, but it still feels kind of annoying. Like an itch down his spine and where the fuck is Papyrus hanging out? Why isn't he here? Why can Sans feel his absence like a physical emptiness inside his soul?

But more importantly, why can't he get off without thinking about his brother these days?

* * *

Maybe, in the back of his mind, Papyrus knows he came all this way to confess fully to Undyne. To spill the beans about the whole horrid business and get it over with.

But something holds him back.

He can't pin it at first, he has never been this nervous around his commander before. There wouldn't be any reason to be. And it's not that he's scared of her so that's definitely not it.

"What has the little asshole done this time?" Undyne sighs, leaning her chin onto her hand and she looks on the verge of falling back asleep. He feels a bit of guilt about waking her up now.

"It's not about-" Papyrus hears himself starting to say, and then it hits him like a shit ton of bricks.

Undyne doesn't like Sans. She doesn't have any reason to and Papyrus can't really blame her, from an outward standpoint. He's lazy, thinks he's hilarious while he's not and would hardly be worth a second look from her, if he weren't Papyrus' brother.

And she wouldn't blink an eye if it comes to killing Sans.

Which is exactly the problem.

Papyrus isn't sure what he would do if Sans died anymore. He always thought it would hardly face him, but now the mere possibility of his brother getting hurt makes something dark and painful manifest inside his ribcage.

"It's not about Sans, per se." He says carefully, and she raises and eyebrow but doesn't comment. Papyrus is an excellent liar under normal circumstances, but right now he can feel the words stick to his throat, unable to get out in a natural sounding way.

"It's about this whole situation with the food and the fucking dogs and now I just-" He shakes his head, tries to dispel the confusion. It's a convenient excuse and a good topic to bring up, despite it not being what's actually on his mind. Hopefully it will keep her from mentioning the supposedly stupid thing he already told her he did. "I need to know what's going on."

Undyne watches him for a moment, biting her lip and he can see she's on the verge of saying something she will probably regret later. Then she sighs again, deeper this time and loaded with a kind of patience not her own.

In a way, Alphys has rubbed off on her, surely.

"Do you know how many human souls we have, Papyrus?"

The question catches him off guard, the suddenness of it and the tone of Undyne's voice implies a kind of secrecy he is unused to.

"Of course." He answers immediately. "You do too, but that's classified information."

"Alphys knows." She says undeterred, and when she looks up at him her one remaining eye squints. "She told me Asgore told her. She wasn't supposed to know but something came up and now she does."

Papyrus doesn't answer, just stands rigidly in the middle of her living room and watches as her nails draw fissures in the already damaged wooden surface of her table.

"Just one more, Papyrus. We need just one more."

He doesn't think he has any energy left in him to be surprised at the detour this conversation is suddenly taking. This entire evening has been nothing but a string of unpleasant revelations and this is just one more for the heap. Papyrus hardly feels like he cares anymore.

Undyne probably reads it in his face. "This is huge shit, you know? Just one more and we could be out of here. And all this misery will finally be over."

Papyrus nods but he feels numb. Because this is not the bad news. This is the good news you tell to soften the blow for what comes afterwards. The calm before the storm.

"But I don't know if we'll make it, Pap." She continues softly and he stand corrected. _This_ is the most vulnerable he has ever seen her. Scared and exhausted and unsure about what to do. And in that moment it all becomes so clear to him, he feels like a fool for not seeing it sooner.

"We're running out already?" He murmurs and she seems relieved that he has finally caught on without her having to actually told him. But with all the happenings lately, it's not too hard to put together.

"We've been running out for months now- The king has tried to delay the worst of it. But now the outer reaches have taken the fall for it, suddenly we just have to cut them off or fear starving everyone and you know as well as I do that the Capital won't stand for that. They want to live."

"Shit." Is all he can say. It doesn't really cover it, but it's all he can think of. This is absolute, utter shit.

She doesn't respond and he scratches the back of his skull, eyes cast to the floor while she rubs her hands down her face and he's not sure if he even wants the answer to his next question but Papyrus has to ask.

"What about the... 'thing' Alphys was doing. I know you said it's a bust, but-"

"It's worse than that. It's a fucking mess. As is told you, I don't know the details but let's just say that the monsters who volunteered to help her... they're not coming back. At least they won't be wasting any more resources."

"They're dead?" Papyrus nearly squeaks, only remembering at the last moment he is not supposed to be losing his composure. Not now of all times.

"Worse than that. Way worse." Undyne says, and when she gets up he knows this conversation is practically over, so he doesn't protest as she leads him back to the door.

As he predicted, she forgot about his opening statements.

Or that's what he hoped at least, but when he's almost out of the door she grabs his wrist. It still hurts like fuck but he doesn't even flinch, she probably forgot about injuring it anyway, and her eyes are pained somehow so he doesn't mention it.

"Remember what I told you, Papyrus. It's not the right time to start loving him. Not now, not ever."

He's pretty sure that's not the word she used before. Does he _love_ Sans?

"I know." He answers. He doesn't have the guts to tell her it's already too late.

* * *

When he's sure Papyrus won't return for a while yet, Sans goes downstairs. He got the key from his drawer a while ago now, and he even went to the backroom once already, but somehow it feels even more important now.

Like it's now or never.

He still hasn't figured out quite what he found in there.

I mean, factually speaking he knows what it is: A bunch of photographs of people he doesn't remember, a drawing in an art-style that is distinctly Papyrus at his toddler phase that Sans doesn't remember ever seeing before, and a machine he doesn't remember how to operate.

And obviously he doesn't remember what any of it means either.

He must have been down there for a while, just staring at the mismatched array of items and wondering how to put them together in a way that makes logical sense to him, in vain.

He starts at the sudden awareness of Papyrus being nearby. It's still a very alien feeling, though not unpleasant. He quickly locks the room behind him and considers hiding out in bed again to avoid having to face his brother, but by the time he gets upstairs it's already too late.

Papyrus is standing in the living room with the dim light of early morning filtering in and all Sans can think in that moment is that his brother looks absolutely breathtaking and he wants to kiss him all over again.

"Are we going to talk about it?" Sans says, carefully, and he doesn't want to talk about it at all actually but it's the least he owes them.

"No."

It tastes a bit bitter still. "So we're just going to pretend like nothing happened then?" He almost sneers and he didn't mean to sound so hurtful but he does.

He's not sure what he wants himself anymore.

"No." Papyrus repeats, and when he turns his head he looks sad somehow. But also resolute in a way that makes his soul clench tighter in his ribcage. "No, I don't think we should do that."

Sans doesn't think they can do that either.

"We'll figure it out. Just not right now." Papyrus says, and he goes upstairs, to probably finally sleep and Sans is left alone, scared shitless but somehow feeling safer than he has in a long while.


	11. Chapter 11

_I walked into love.  
I walked into a minefield,  
_ _I never heard of._

* * *

Predictably, Papyrus comes down after a few hours or so. Sans never figured out how his brother could function on so little sleep when he himself seems to be able to nap the day away, but it must be another particularity of his.

He just stays on the couch, motionless, pretending to watch TV. It's playing yet another Mettaton rerun, with just enough loud bangs and bright colors to be a suitable distraction.

And to keep him from staring at his brother's behind as he disappears into the kitchen.

This is definitely escalating.

When Papyrus comes back out he stops in the doorway, hesitating. Sans can barely restrain himself from looking over, entire body gone rigid.

They're not going to talk about this. Not now, when Papyrus still cradles a nearly broken femur and Sans feels like his head could explode at any moment and they have the taste of each other lingering on their tongues.

They're not going to talk about this now.

And when Papyrus approaches, Sans is caught between wanting to dart away as fast as possible or meet his brother half-way so he just opts for the middle ground and stays motionless, eyes no longer caught on the screen but somewhere on the wall instead.

Time goes agonizingly slow, torturing him and when they're finally close enough to touch, Papyrus simply bends forwards and presses a kiss to the top of his brother's skull.

Then he turns and leaves, perhaps a bit faster than absolutely necessary. When the door slams closed behind him Sans sags back into the cushions, not able to suppress the smile on his face.

The gesture is small, almost ridiculously so, but it means more to him than words can express.

* * *

Outside, Papyrus is more than a little grateful for the icy Snowdin weather to stall the heat rushing its way up his cheekbones.

He has no fucking clue why he did that. Maybe he read one too many of Undyne's stupid comics. They always feature bloody battles and flying limbs and at the end, the hero whisks away his maiden fair and kisses her.

Papyrus wouldn't consider himself a hero by any stretch of the imagination, nor is Sans a maiden, but somehow it felt like the right thing to do.

The streets are still emptier than usual, and the sight brings his attention back to the more serious matters at hand. As pressing as the recent changes in his and Sans' relationship are, for them personally that is, it won't mean squat if the world around them falls apart.

Beautiful as that would be an analogy, Papyrus cares rather more for survival than he does for symbolism.

He passes the store, door closed and curtains drawn. Looks like she didn't even bother to open today, holding on to her wares like a desperate sailor holds on to a piece of wood after a shipwreck and the meaning is more than clear.

You fuckers can drown for all I care, I'm getting out of this alive.

As if they don't know that if need is high enough, the royal guards will just barge in and take what they want by force. It has happened before.

It reminds him of what Undyne had told him the night before. About the people from Snowdin who were picked to volunteer on Alphys' little project.

The word volunteer would be used rather generously, that is. You don't really refuse a royal inquest.

The captain said they weren't coming back, which leaves little to the imagination, though she seemed rather adamant he didn't ask for the details, nor did he particularly care to know. About as much as he cares to be the one to inform local residents that their family members are probably deceased (or worse). He's already not the most popular skeleton in town, he doubts being the bearer of such bad news will do anything to improve his reputation.

Normally, he would shove it off to one of the lesser guardsman and call it a day, but then again, it isn't like Undyne is very happy with him either at the moment. On the contrary, once the dog couple has wallowed in self-pity long enough and finally goes to relay their most recent encounter to the Captain, Papyrus fears Undyne will be even less agreeable with him.

It's a fucking conundrum, that's for sure. Normally, Papyrus wouldn't have to think twice about who is the most dangerous party to piss off, but with recent evolutions he might need to reconsider.

And whenever a difficult choice is puzzling him, he goes puzzling. Literally.

It's been a while since he has worked on his traps, so it should be a nice change of pace.

* * *

The feeling blossoms inside his chest again, pushing against his ribcage and Sans would be more than happy to just sit on the couch all day and marvel at how much things have changed.

How much more alive he feels and how much warmer the house is and how much not fucked the world looks anymore.

Then it fades, gradually but surely receding back into it's old melancholic black and he gets up just for the sake of feeling his legs again.

The back room is just as he left it, all be it a little more dusty. It didn't take much for Sans to put the machine together again, from what he could find lying around the scattered boxes and various blueprints.

He has studied those papers for hours and has yet to find out what this thing is actually supposed to do once finished, but he figures if he can get it to work, he'll see for himself.

Not that that seems very likely at the moment. The machinery is far from complete, there's cogs missing and little whirly things Sans has no idea where to find, not even with his access to the black market. He considered asking Papyrus, who is in his own right technically gifted enough, but the timing never seemed quite right and now there's all that other _shit_ going on.

No, Sans will just have to figure this out without his brother's help.

But he knows somebody else who can.

* * *

"You know you're being an idiot, right?"

Flowey always has a nasty habit of popping up when Papyrus least wants to talk to the fucking flower, but today of all days he can't find the motivation to shoo away the pesky thing.

He's just about to rearrange the snow to look exactly like his face, an endeavor he started weeks ago but had yet to finished when his 'friend' sprung from the earth besides him.

Papyrus isn't very surprised.

"That's not very nice." He says with a sly smile, knowing Flowey doesn't have a mean fiber in his small body. He likes to see him get riled up about it though.

"I didn't mean it like that." The flower practically pouts. "I just meant this isn't much better than before."

The snow is littered with chunks of ice, and Papyrus momentarily considers throwing a piece of it at his friend's face, but refrains. "How so?"

"Either you tell him, or you don't. What you're doing now is just... messy."

Papyrus looks at his art piece with deliberate contemplation. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." Flowey says, looking even more perturbed and the skeleton has the distinct feeling it's not telling him something.

He doesn't bother to ask.

"There's nothing to tell him." he answers.

That's a lie. There's something alright. Problem is Papyrus doesn't know what.

"Ugh, you're such an idiot!" Flowey iterates again, rolling his eyes and disappearing underground before Papyrus can so much as react.

The skeleton isn't sure why, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

There's a draft in the air, gale on the surface barely reaching them below, like a storm brewing.

* * *

Sans doesn't make the journey to Hotland often. He's less vocal about it than his brother usually is, but the heat is kind of annoying, especially for somebody who is used to living in freezing temperatures most of the time.

Oh, and the deathly traps and conveyor belts are a pain, of course.

But it doesn't surprise him much that Alphys has chosen to live here, instead of the Capital, which would be her right as royal scientist.

Sans has known her for a long time now, though he can barely recall meeting her in the first place, but they rarely interact and that's not a coincidence.

Alphys is socially awkward as hell. Sans is too lazy to put much effort into anything. They're a crappy combination for friendship or keeping in touch even.

But he also knows Alphys is smarter than anyone, smarter than him, pretty chaotic, and won't be able to resist if he tells her he has a mystery machine that might or might not break dimensions. That's as much as he has been able to figure out going by the scribbly writing on the blueprints in the back room.

But it should be more than enough to pique her interest, and curiosity killed the cat. If there's anyone that can get this project up and running again, it's Alphys.

He let's himself in, mildly surprised that the door is left carelessly unlocked, before remembering crime is way less rampant in this region than it is in the outer reaches.

Must be nice, not fearing for the loss of your belongings (or life) all the time.

The lab is dark, and for a second Sans thinks she might not be home, but the desk lamp is on and then he sees her frame, wrapped in shadows hunched over the work table. Her shoulders are shaking.

For a second Sans thinks she might be crying, but then the sound reaches him. A kind of, disjointed huffing that he doesn't recognize as laughter at first. Until he does and it leaves him feeling sick.

"Uhm- Alphys? You okay there buddy?"

His voice echoes against the tile walls, its eerie sound reminding him again of why he never visits her here, and the laughter stops for a second, before it picks up again, louder.

"Oh, I fucked them up Sans. I fucked them up so badly, t-they won't ever be right again."

Her nails scratch against the linoleum of the table, not hard enough to leave furrows but the sound grates on his ear holes and he can see the dust stuck beneath them. Were it anyone else, Sans might be scared by now. Apprehensive at the very least.

Not with her.

She turns around, still laughing but he can see it in her eyes. Something went terribly wrong.

"The job didn't work out?" He asks at length. She told him about it, which was probably not allowed but Alphys doesn't do rules or structure or anything like that.

She only deals in anarchy.

"Oh, it worked all right. The theory that is." Her teeth are sharp and crooked. She reminds him of Undyne in that way. "The practice got kind of... gritty."

"I can tell." He says, eyes caught on the dust and she wipes it off as if it's nothing. It's nothing to her.

"It's too bad, I really wanted this to work." She sighs. There's more regret on her face for the failed attempts than for the horrifying results he guesses it must have caused. "It would have been so interesting."

He doesn't doubt it would have been.

Her gazes catches on his, disoriented for a second before she shakes her head and grins. "Never mind, I'm sure you didn't come here for a courtesy visit. What do you need?"

"Just your opinion on something, Al. I brought the blueprints and everything."

"Of course you have." Her hands shake a bit as she takes them, more unsteady than is expected of somebody who preforms delicate science work on the daily, but Sans decides not to comment.

He has caught her in a good mood and isn't about to blow that.

"By the way, how is your b-brother?" She asks evenly as she flattens the papers on her desk. Despite the innocence of such a question in normal circumstances, Sans feel immediately on guard against the probing. "Still has all his limbs, I assume?"

Alphys never heeded much mind to Papyrus before, he's not even sure they've ever properly met.

"I guess he's fine." He huffs, trying to inject the same kind of disinterest he used to feel towards his brother into the sentence, but unsure if it works. That time feels ages ago.

The royal scientist is already busy writing her findings on a piece of paper, smile getting wider by the second, indicating he has brought her something interesting indeed. "Undyne told me yesterday. She sounded really- uhm... pissed. Like, really really pissed."

Sans shifts his weight, trying desperately not to show his growing nervousness. "What are you talking about?"

"The punishment." She notices the look on his face, laughing awkwardly. "Oh- I uh. Guess she hasn't done that yet, huh. Well, it doesn't matter."

The clenching of his soul inside his ribcage is something new too, foreign and angry and too unpleasant for words. A different kind of fear, not for himself, but rather...

He's worried about Papyrus. And about whatever somebody like Undyne considers a fair punishment for 'mutiny' among her ranks.


	12. Chapter 12

**Whoops I'm mightly late but here's the next chapter of this mess. Now WITH some actual frick-fracking, though it's still rather tame**

* * *

 _I was good on my own._

 _Until you came along._

 _Waited for me to fall._

 _Now you're gone, baby, gone._

* * *

He hurries out a few words of apology, ignores the way Alphys glances at him, claws still curled tightly around the blueprints he has brought her. Something is hammering away at his chest.

Sans feels like there's a vice tightening itself around his throat with each passing second that Papyrus isn't in his immediate sight.

It takes him almost a full minute of running at top speed, something his body isn't exactly comfortable with going by the pounding in his head and the awkward lurch in his step, to realize magic is even a thing.

He uses it to quickly transport himself to the outskirts of Snowdin, immediately aware of the tense atmosphere in the air.

There's a crowd gathered near the middle of the town and Sans doesn't have to be a genius to figure out something bad is happening. Something horrible and fucked up and it aches, settles in his gut with annoying accuracy.

He can't lose Papyrus. Not now.

The thought strikes unbidden, gone before it properly came and that too he ignores because now is not the time to dwell on fragile things.

He pushes through the gathering of monsters, everybody is staring at the middle of their tight circle and Sans sees a flash of red hair, razor sharp teeth.

Papyrus is on his knees. Undyne has her claws curled around the back of his neck, holding him down, tightening minutely as she talks and the words take a bit to reach Sans. His entire world focusing in on what is happening in front of him.

"-ing. For today will be a lesson in insubordination, and the price that will be paid for not listening to those that command you." Her grin is wide, but Sans can see the strain underneath. In a weird twist of fate Undyne has always liked Papyrus. In as much as the fish monster could like anybody at least.

His mind casts back to Alphys, whom he left so hastily and Sans frowns.

"Are you ready for your punishment?" Undyne growls lowly and Papyrus nods. He doesn't bow his head, he's staring straight ahead and into the crowd gathered to see this public humiliation.

Sans locks eyes with him suddenly.

The first strike resounds with a loud crack. Papyrus makes a noise, something between a grunt and a pained groan. Sans can see him clenching his teeth.

Undyne waits for a second, as if hesitating, before bringing the whip down on Papyrus' back again. And again. And again.

It goes on for a few minutes like this, Undyne leaves barely a second between strikes. Maybe she wants to get it over with more quickly. Papyrus stays mostly silent, red eye lights focusing on Sans and Sans alone through the entire thing.

The shorter skeleton barely dares blink, not wanting to break the strange connection between them.

The crowd cheers with every hit, their contempt clear on their faces. They're hungry and tired and worn down and some primitive part of their brain takes a sick pleasure in seeing their authority figure punished like this. Sans feels his magic surge, every inch of his body wired with anxious energy.

He could put a stop to this. He could end them. The thought is tempting at least, when he sees the way Papyrus buckles under the hits, Undyne's hand all that is keeping him upright at the moment.

Then he notices Papyrus staring at him, his eyes bright and feverish and he stops. Reels in his magic until it's just a shimmer beneath the surface, begging to be set free but eventually unable to.

Undyne strikes down one more time.

The back of Papyrus' shirt is in tatters, a mess of deep gashes seeping dust and Undyne looks at her work for a short moment before letting go. Papyrus slumps forward, unable to bear his own weight so suddenly and Sans is there to catch him before he hits the ground.

The crowd disperses now that the show is over and Undyne hisses, low enough for only them to hear. "Go patch him up, runt."

Sans doesn't reply, clenching his hands more tightly against his brother's shoulders instead. Papyrus leans against him, hissing in pain as Sans tries to move him physically. He decides to throw caution to the wind then and teleports them both into their house instead.

After checking that the door is securely locked, they wouldn't want anybody trying to take advantage of their current situation, Sans quickly makes his way to the kitchen, scouring their fridge for anything that might be helpful.

Some leftovers from Grillby's are all they have left.

He brings them to Papyrus anyway, whom is already pushing himself up into a sitting position on the floor, back perched carefully against their couch, despite the many wounds.

"That was rather... painful." He says idly, and if Sans didn't know any better he'd say that was a joke.

"Here you go, Boss." He tries to hand his brother the greasy packet but the taller skeleton waves it away, annoyed.

"I'm not eating that crap and you know it."

Sans rolls his eyes, putting it on the table instead. "You're being stubborn."

"Surprise."

Papyrus looks at him carefully, eyes half-lidded and smiles. Sans feels his face heat up all of the sudden, though he isn't sure why.

"W-What?"

His brother looks away then. "Never mind."

Sans is kneeling in front of him, and Papyrus sighs, as if he has to really weigh his next words. Sans waits patiently, scared that saying anything might break whatever strange spell has clearly taken a hold of his brother so suddenly.

"Sans." Papyrus says. "Come here."

With some hesitation, like maybe he's being lured into a trap, Sans scoots over, closer still until he's on his knees right in front of the sitting skeleton, faces level.

"What do yo-"

And then there is a hand on the back of his skull, pulling him forward and meshing their mouths together.

It isn't gentle. Papyrus doesn't kiss him like a lover would. Instead it is messy and desperate and maybe just a little bit crazy. Because they both know they shouldn't be doing this.

Sans' entire body stiffens, unsure what to do and Papyrus drops his hand into his lap, letting go of him immediately. Probably thinking this isn't what Sans wants at all.

He opens his mouth to say something and Sans takes the opportunity to lean in, making his brother utter a surprised gasp. He feels something wet and warm slide against his teeth and shudders.

The moment seems to last for ages, but in reality it's probably only been a few seconds before Papyrus is dragging him in, using both hands to grip the front of his jacket and pull him closer, until Sans is practically sitting in the taller skeleton's lap.

Their foreheads are touching and it's a weirdly intimate gesture, even considering what they are doing right now. Sans uses his hands as leverage against his brother's shoulders, pulling them closer together still.

Papyrus sighs into the motion, pulling back for a second and their eyes lock. His gaze is... intense. Heated, and it makes another shudder run down Sans' spine. The way his brother is looking at him is almost-

There's teeth against his throat, something wet licking the side of his collarbone and Sans throws his head back suddenly, giving Papyrus better access. Deft hands are pushing at his jacket, trying to get him to take it off and Sans obliges, fumbling with Papyrus' scarf in turn.

It's like they can't expose enough of each other all at once, as if the entire room is too hot for comfort.

Papyrus buck his hips and Sans can feel something there. He looks down, the bulge in his brother's pants unmistakable and he grins, pushing himself forward even more until he can grind his hips against it.

"S-Sans-" Papyrus moans, surprised but not exactly displeasing in tone. His entire face is turning as red as a tomato and Sans finds it more endearing than anything else.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Boss." Sans practically purrs, moving slowly but deliberately as their bodies press together, loving the way Papyrus'ands roam all over him, stroking the side of his skull, the back of his neck, the side of his arms.

His own erection has formed as well and Sans loves the way they're feeling against each other too, tight and hot and so so fucking good. He grinds down harder, wrapping his legs around his brother's waist eagerly and ignoring the way the taller skeleton hisses in pain.

It only seems to edge Papyrus on further, as he continues pushing up into Sans' motions even harder, until they find an unsteady rhythm that leaves them both panting.

Their mouths meet again and this time it's even more desperate, yearning. They've waited so long they can't get enough of each other fast enough now that's it's finally happening.

Too soon Sans can feel something tight curling inside his gut and he pulls back to groan against the side of his bother's skull.

"Ngh- Boss, I'm s-so close."

Papyrus nods, rutting against him like his life depends on it and then he's biting on the side of Sans' neck, sharp canines digging into sensitive bone.

Sans screams as he cums, hips bucking widely as the sudden wave of pleasure and pain rush over him, swallowing him completely.

He blinks sluggishly afterwards, trying to get back into the present. His pants feel uncomfortably sticky, and there's a sharp throbbing where Papyrus pulled his little stunt, but overall there's more bliss than anything else.

His brother is looking at him with wide eyes, something indecipherable within them and for a moment Sans just knows it's regret.

He swallows, bracing his hands against the floor to push away but two arms encircle him before he can do so.

"I'm sorry."

Sans looks up at his brother slowly and there's tears pooling around the corners of papyrus' eye sockets. He frowns.

"B-Boss?"

He doesn't think he has ever seen Papyrus cry before and the sight is foreign, making something painstakingly stab at his soul. To know that he is the cause of this-

"It's ok." He says quickly. "It's ok Papyrus."

And as he wraps his arms around his brother in turn, careful this time to avoid aggravating his fresh wounds, he lays his head against the other's chest, sighing when he can feel the other's soul so close to his own. Can feel the connection even as it's forming.

What have they done.


End file.
